


Blue Moon Revisited

by isinglass



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Post-Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Queer as in fuck you, Sirius Black Free from Azkaban, Slow Burn, Social Justice Wizards, Welsh Remus Lupin, fix-it AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:20:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 43,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24647080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isinglass/pseuds/isinglass
Summary: Sirius and Remus haven't been a couple since they were eighteen. (What happened in the broom cupboard at James and Lily's wedding doesn't count.) Now they've been reunited, but Sirius is well aware he's never been less fanciable - a notorious ex-con moping around Remus's cottage, playing Nick Drake cassettes on repeat, getting into rows with Remus's emotionally manipulative father.While Sirius was in prison, Remus built a new life, one filled with friends and music and activism. His feelings for Sirius haven't changed, but he has no intention of rushing back into a relationship with his ex-boyfriend (or leaving Wales for a mysterious tower in the Scottish Highlands).But the moon has other ideas.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 41
Kudos: 86





	1. Prologue

**"We created it, let's take it over." -Patti Smith**

_June 6, 1994_

Minerva McGonagall will never consider herself the hero of this story. Nevertheless, an outside observer might conclude that she deserves most of the credit.

It's evening, and Minerva is headed to the library to inquire about the latest issue of _Transfiguration Today_. (Minerva and Irma Pince are locked in a decades-long cold war sparked by a disagreement over book acquisitions. Lately Madam Pince has taken to hoarding Minerva's professional journals in her office, claiming they have been set aside for binding.)

Just as Minerva passes the History of Magic classroom, Severus Snape comes hurdling down the corridor like a runaway Bludger. The two professors almost collide headfirst. They exchange cursory apologies, but Minerva observes that the Potions master is ashen, breathless. She asks if everything is all right.

"What?" Severus snaps, not meeting her gaze. "Yes, of course."

Severus is not in the habit of lying to Minerva McGonagall. Minerva believes her fellow head of house and former student is intimidated by her, despite his facade of smooth self-assurance. In the interest of harmonious coexistence with a difficult colleague, she finds she prefers a Professor Snape who is slightly afraid of her.

Severus sweeps past her down the corridor. Minerva watches him go and observes that his hands are trembling. The man is vibrating with some unknown emotion.

Minerva considers going to Dumbledore—but the headmaster is probably still with the Minister of Magic, that unfortunate matter concerning the hippogriff. Besides, the last time Minerva went to the headmaster with complaints about Severus Snape, it ended in a very ugly row. (Minerva would follow Albus Dumbledore to the grave, but she occasionally indulges in elaborate fantasies about how things would be run at Hogwarts if she were headmistress.)

Minerva could also mind her own business. It is the end of term, and she has spent the last week giving practical exams to jittery students. What she really wants is to unwind in her office with a bottle of white wine and Bedwyr Blight's latest article about Vanishing Theory. 

Instead, Minerva makes a decision. She waits until Severus's footfalls are almost out of hearing. Then she transforms, and a tabby cat with spectacle markings around the eyes follows the Potions master out into the castle grounds.

Minerva's desire for stealth is perhaps a miscalculation. She keeps her distance, and across the lawn sees the Whomping Willow's limbs freeze. By the time she's approached, Severus is gone, the Willow is in motion again, and Minerva finds she does not recall the trick to disarming it. It has been sixteen years, after all, since the student for whom it was planted has needed its services.

Her cat's mind is very clear on one thing—some hunt is afoot. Severus Snape is _up to something_. What can he possibly be doing in the Shrieking Shack? Whatever it is, the tabby cat is determined to pounce on the truth.

She considers and discounts several possibilities. Hogsmeade is swarming with dementors, the damned Minister is probably blathering to Dumbledore about matters of governance, and she cannot think of a single member of the staff whom she can trust implicitly to take her side against Snape. Filius Flitwick, God love him, will conjure a dozen theories before concluding they should defer to Dumbledore's judgment. Pomona Sprout will wring her hands and suggest they invite Severus to tea the next morning for a friendly chat. Of course there's Hagrid, but the poor man is probably weeping into one of his circus tent-sized handkerchiefs right now.

So Minerva settles on a course of action at which she naturally excels. She waits.

Over an hour later, a strange assembly emerges from the Willow. When Sirius Black appears, Minerva has already returned to human form, wand at the ready—but her hand isn't trained on Black. Instead, her attention is on the manacled form between Remus Lupin and Ron Weasley.

Minerva won't prevent the manacled man from hexing young Weasley. She won't be able to stop him when he transforms and disappears into the forest. But when Black and the children stray too close to the dementors who have massed near the lake, it's Minerva's Patronus that dispels them, the silver tabbycat chasing the hooded figures like so many vermin. (When Minerva casts the spell, it's with the memory of the first time she transformed into her Animagus, the pure joy of knowing _this_ was what her magic was for.)

When Sirius Black is captured, it's Minerva McGonagall, deputy headmistress of Hogwarts, who testifies she's seen Peter Pettigrew with her own eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

When Remus comes to himself, he's lying in an oak grove. Dawn slants through the canopy in bands of pale light; all else is shadow.

Remus feels like every bone in his body has been snapped apart and then shoved back together. It's more or less an accurate description of what's happened. The morning after a full moon is like being trampled by a dragon—but of course he's the dragon. The monster that's got Remus in its gullet is Remus.

He can still feel it, the wolf in his blood, pricking his nerves and stalking the corners of his memory. His goose-pimpled skin is raw to the touch; he feels distinctly each frond of the bed of ferns he's landed on, each one of last autumn's acorns grinding against his bones. An animal scurries through the underbrush, its movements a giant's tread.

Just as his thoughts begin to form a coherent strand, an enormous, shaggy black dog pads into view.

Remus's wolf-memory always comes in fragments. Last night's memories are clearer than most, but still disjointed—calls of owls, rustle of a fox in the undergrowth, the sheltering darkness of the forest. The dog's scent beside him, familiar, trusted.

The wolf resisted at first. Remus remembers the big dog checking him, nipping at his heels, forcing him deeper into the trees. But he also remembers the dog and the wolf running side by side, the dart of a rabbit making them race. The scent of leaf litter, the freedom of open air. The howl tearing itself from his throat, and the dog following with a happy bark.

Now Sirius kneels over him, pressing a human hand to his shoulder. He's holding Remus's wand in his other hand, and slung over his arm is a set of robes that look conjured, the gray fabric smooth and somehow insubstantial.

Sirius's hair is matted, and his thin face is candle-pale. He smells exactly like someone who's been living in the woods for the past nine months. But his eyes are Padfoot's eyes, gray and pleading.

Under ordinary circumstances, Remus Lupin's mind resembles nothing so much as a card catalog in a Muggle library. The drawers are neatly labeled; Remus is familiar, more or less, with the contents of each one. Everything is orderly and out of the way.

The day after a full moon, it's as if someone has pulled out every drawer and shaken out the contents. Stray impulses surface like fantastic water-dwellers coming up for air, all his carefully wrought self-control subsumed by a wolf's restlessness.

Remus stretches out a hand. Before he knows what he's doing, he's caught Sirius's thin arm and pulled him down into a kiss.

***

Sirius Black's thoughts stop cold, like a transmission out of gear.

He's not even sure the kiss has happened until it's over. "Kiss" is not a word that has appeared in Sirius's vocabulary lately. Sirius is not, in fact, accustomed to being touched at all. Sirius is not used to human contact of any kind, unless you count listening to other prisoners sob quietly in their cells.

Someone has let out a sigh, and he realizes it's him. He can still feel the brush of dry lips against his mouth, brief and disorienting. Remus has sunk back into the ferns, his hazel eyes unfocused but still moving over Sirius's face.

Sirius's blood is a cataract in his ears. He realizes he knows what this is, though the memory feels like something that happened to another person in another lifetime. Remus at the full moon, aching and bone-weary, but also raw, vulnerable. Sirius remembers other kisses like this one, and a moment later wishes he hadn't remembered. In a few hours, Sirius is certain Remus will regret what he's just done.

"Come on," he says, and hauls Remus to his feet. He helps him into the conjured robes and puts an arm around his waist. "Hold onto me."

Remus catches his balance with an arm around Sirius's shoulder. "What are we...?"

"They're waiting for us up in the castle. It's all right," he says, in response to the wary look on Remus's face. "I'm... my name's been cleared."

It's the first time Sirius has said the words, and they feel as unreal as Remus's kiss.

The front doors to the castle swing open. Sirius is grateful that it's too early for students to be about, because apparently the entire staff of Hogwarts has come out to meet them.

There's Albus Dumbledore, watching serenely as if the events unfolding before him were entirely of his design. Professor McGonagall, wearing a tartan shawl over her robes and looking like Sirius's idea of a bleary-eyed parent who has been waiting to scold him for being out past curfew. (Sirius's own mother was never bleary-eyed, but sharp as a kneazle.)

Several other faculty members are grouped around them, including Severus Snape, whose black pupils are boring into Sirius as if he could curse with eye contact alone.

The Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, strides forwards in his pinstriped cloak. "Well? Where is Pettigrew?"

The Minister's manner is brisk, but he doesn't meet Sirius's eyes. Sirius is still supporting a half-conscious Remus, and he has just not got the patience for this right now.

"I've lost his scent," he says. "He's gone." And he turns away from Fudge.

Now Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall are running down the front steps, Madam Pomfrey in conjuring a stretcher and helping Remus down onto it.

"What were you doing all night in the—?" Fudge splutters. "How could you let him—?"

"We were looking for Peter," Remus says blearily. He's rolled onto his side on the stretcher, curled in on himself like a wounded animal, but he smiles faintly. "I thought we were chasing rabbits."

"It's no different than what the Aurors have been telling us all night, Minister," McGonagall says, and her words are full of thorns. "If he were still here, their spells would have found him." She rests a hand on Sirius's arm, and he's so startled at the touch that it's all he can do not to jump away. More gently she says, "It's likely Pettigrew had already left the grounds by the time you began your search."

"Now that the forest is secure—" Fudge casts a deeply offended look at Remus— "the Aurors will move in at once and conduct a search on the ground. I must tell you, Dumbledore, that I am not pleased with how this business has been handled, not pleased at all."

"Pardon me, Minister," Madam Pomfrey says with a hauteur that makes Sirius contemplate proposing marriage, "but both of these men need rest. If you will excuse us—"

She levitates the stretcher and conducts it up to the steps. "Come along, Black," McGonagall says, her hand still on his arm.

Sirius follows her lead, swaying slightly with exhaustion, and with the weight of everything that has happened in the past twenty-four hours.

***

Remus wakes in bed, the room bright with midday sunlight. Sirius Black is sitting on the wingback chair beside the window, wearing Remus's dressing gown and eating what appears to be an entire chocolate cake.

As usual, Remus feels as if he fell off a broomstick and an entire Quidditch team has landed on top of him. He often sleeps through the day after a full moon, but normally his long-lost ex-convict best friend isn't sitting in the opposite chair, watching him sleep.

He props himself up on his elbows. "How long have you been there?"

"I slept on the floor," Sirius says around a mouthful of cake. "As Padfoot," he clarifies, no doubt seeing Remus's distress. "I'm, er, not used to beds."

The robes that Sirius conjured earlier are gone, so Remus fishes a pair of threadbare pajama bottoms from the floor beside the bed and pulls them on beneath the covers, trying to do so with as little injury to his dignity as he can manage. Sirius looks away politely.

Truthfully, Remus doubts Sirius is concerned about anyone's dignity right now. It's evident he's bathed and shaved and trimmed his nails, and his long hair is pulled back from his face, but he still looks feral. Perhaps it's because he's eating the cake with his fingers.

Remus hobbles over to the kettle. "You found the pull-bell for the kitchens?"

"You know house-elves." Sirius's voice has the same sandpaper quality that it did last night, Remus suspects from lack of use. "You ask for a bit of something sweet, and..." He gestures to the cake.

Remus pours hot water over the teabags—he's given them two each—and hands one to Sirius. Sirius wordlessly holds out the cake. Remus cuts a slice and balances it on the edge of his saucer. He lowers himself into the opposite chair.

It's warm in the room, verging on stuffy, and the flat light gives the scene a surreal quality. Fragrant steam from the brewing tea bathes Remus's face. His bones hurt, and he's so tired, and so utterly at sea.

"What happened last night?" he asked quietly. "After I changed..."

"The dementors nearly got Harry and me." Remus splutters on his tea. "It's all right— McGonagall was there; she drove them off. They brought us up to the castle, and I answered their questions. McGonagall vouched for me. Then I went after you. If it was up to Fudge he wouldn't have let me go, but Dumbledore insisted, he agreed that I was the only one who had a chance of catching Peter. McGonagall wanted to come as well, but I wasn't sure I could protect her from... you." Sirius's jaw tightens. "Doesn't matter. I was too late."

"It's all my fault. I was incredibly careless..."

Sirius slouches back in the chair. "No. I was the one who failed."

"You didn't fail," Remus says gently. "Harry's safe."

Remus knows that he should feel something about Peter's escape. Yet his fury, his sense of betrayal, has shifted to something else—a sadness too big to face. He could lose himself in it, but Sirius Black is sitting in his bedroom, wearing his borrowed dressing gown, and while Remus hasn't worked out how he feels about that yet, he knows he doesn't want anything to distract him from this moment.

"Thank you for being there, last night," he says. "I truly don't like to think about what might have happened, without Padfoot."

"We didn't meet anyone. You would have been all right." The ghost of a smile flickers over Sirius's mouth. "It was good. Running together. Like old times."

"It was the best full moon I've had in a long time," Remus admits. "But it was incredibly dangerous." He pauses, then says in a rush, "I should apologize. For what happened afterwards."

There's a long silence. "It's fine." Sirius sets down the cake and takes a long sip of tea, expression unreadable.

Remus is on the verge of saying more, but then a knock comes—not on the wall clock that conceals the entrance to his bedroom, but on the outer door between the corridor and his office.

Remus goes to his wardrobe and pulls a set of robes over his pajamas, conscious of how shabby the garment is. He's fairly handy with domestic magic, but you can't mend fabric where there's no fabric left to mend. He pulls on scuffed shoes and goes to meet the visitor.

To his utter surprise, it's Neville Longbottom. The boy's round, soft-featured face is tight with worry, and his arms are folded over his chest. He doesn't enter the office. It's September again, and Neville is about to face his first Boggart.

"Hello, Neville." Remus tries for a calming tone. "What is it?"

Neville shakes his head, opens his mouth but doesn't speak. "He's lying, isn't he, Professor?" he finally bursts out.

"I don't—"

"Snape." The name sounds like it's been wrenched out of his throat. "Professor Snape, this morning at breakfast, he told all the Slytherins that you're—a werewolf." He says these last words almost too quietly to hear.

"He said _what_?" a voice snarls behind them.

Neville emits a shriek of recognition. Remus turns to see Sirius standing in the doorway.

"Sirius!" he exclaims. "This isn't the moment!"

"He told your students? That little _p_ _ustule_ —!"

"Sirius, _eat your cake_ and let me handle this." Remus turns back to Neville. "Neville, you're not in danger. I don't know if you've heard from Harry what happened last night—"

"I haven't seen Harry. But I... I heard some of it..." Neville's still watching Sirius as if he's a chimera about to strike.

"Then you know that Sirius Black isn't what any of us thought. He's no danger to you." Remus exhales. "Professor Snape told the truth. I am a werewolf."

Neville stares. There's still fear in his gaze, but it's tinged with something worse. Disappointment.

"Did Snape say anything else about me?" Remus prompts.

"That you transformed in the Forbidden Forest last night," Neville mumbles, shoulders around his ears. "That you could have bitten someone."

"Yes, that's true," Remus says. Neville lifts his head, as if startled to hear him admit it. "When I took this position, it was with the intention of doing everything within my power to keep everyone at this school safe. I am so sorry that I let all of you down." He lets out a breath. "Naturally, it won't happen again. I will go to Professor Dumbledore and hand in my resignation."

"No!" Neville cries.

Remus feels his heart twist. "Neville..."

Neville steps forward, hands fists at his side. "I'd rather have you than Snape! You may be a—a monster, but..."

"Er, Neville," Remus says, a little more loudly.

Neville turns to see Albus Dumbledore standing in the corridor, looking weary behind his half-moon glasses. Dumbledore's gaze flicks from Sirius to Neville before settling on Remus.

"Ah," he says softly. "I apologize, Remus. I intended to give you some much-needed rest, but I see that the morning's events have preceded me." He rests a hand briefly on Neville's shoulder. "Neville, I need to have a private word with Professor Lupin."

"Take care, Neville," Remus says, and forces a smile. "It's really been a pleasure teaching you. I wish you all the best."

Neville nods quickly, and then lets out something like a sob. Pink-cheeked, he flees.

When he's gone, Sirius steps forward. "You're really going to let that... utter waste of space drive you out."

Remus doesn't look at him. "When you consider the history of this post, it seems wise to resign while I still can."

"Sirius, you'll find Harry with his friends by the lake," Dumbledore says. "You may prefer to go in dog form. Neville Longbottom aside, I fear that our students are not quite ready for Sirius Black in the flesh."

"I've got all summer to spend with Harry," Sirius says. "Right now I want to hear why _Severus Snape_ is teaching my godson."

Dumbledore's expression doesn't change, but there's something hard in his gaze. "Severus's appointment at this school is a matter between him and myself. As for Harry, in a few days he will return to his aunt and uncle's house—"

"Harry is coming to live with me," Sirius says quickly. "He wants to, he said so last night—"

"Harry belongs with his blood relatives," Dumbledore says.

Sirius comes to stand in front of Dumbledore. "He _chose me_. I'm his godfather. What the hell have you got to do with it, anyway?"

Remus's hand closes on his arm. "Sirius, Harry is most likely alive because of Petunia. The blood she shares with Lily protects him from Voldemort. We can't take him from her home."

Sirius stares at him, breathing hard.

Remus's voice is as even as he can make it. "I could never have cared for Harry, being what I am, but we're not the only ones looking after his interests. Petunia has kept Harry safe. I've tried to respect that."

"Petunia _hated us_. She hated James, she hated magic! Harry belongs in our world—"

"I can't agree there," Remus says. "About worlds, I mean. Seeing as my own mother was a Muggle."

"Proving my point," Sirius shoots back.

Remus releases his arm and takes a step back. Sirius averts his eyes; he knows the line he's just crossed. Whatever either of them may think of Hope Lupin, she is dead.

"Sirius, no one is happier than I for Harry to have another trusted adult in his life," Dumbledore says gently. "The link with Petunia Dursley must not be severed, but that does not mean Harry cannot visit you this summer. There are simply—rules we must be careful to follow."

"Right." Sirius turns from both of them. "I know I'm not a proper guardian," he says rapidly. "I know I've let everyone down. More times than I can count. But please don't fucking patronize me. If you don't trust me to protect him, say it to my face."

"That's not—!"

But Sirius has already transformed. Padfoot sweeps past Remus and Dumbledore and vanishes down the stone corridor.

***

Harry and his friends are sitting at the edge of the lake, speaking in low voices as the June sun makes dazzling patterns on the water. Padfoot watches them for a long time before retreating to the shadow of the castle.

There he beds down under a shrubby juniper, hiding his muzzle beneath his paws. He ought to go back inside, but the prospect of returning floods him with shame. He entertains the alternative of finding out how badly he can scare the shit out of Snape without actually drawing blood, but he doesn't imagine Remus would appreciate this.

He allows his mind to drift, one grim thought following another, blunted only by the immediacy of being Padfoot. A bird flits among the juniper branches, and his ears prick automatically. He remembers racing through the woods, the scent of the wolf blended with the scents of the forest. Moonlight and owl cries and the skittering of animals. Somewhere in the distance, the rhythm of a centaur's gallop.

Once, when they were fifteen, the Marauders saw a unicorn in the Forbidden Forest. They came upon it as it grazed in a clearing, catching the moonlight and throwing it back along with its own luminescence. The four watched the creature, transfixed. Then the wolf darted forward, and Padfoot sped after him—and faster than an eyeblink, the unicorn disappeared from sight.

 _Maybe there's nothing left to take_ , Sirius thinks, a human thought in a dog's mind. _The dementors devoured my soul a long time ago._

Perhaps an hour passes. He's drifting toward sleep when someone sits on the ground beside him.

He opens one eye. It's Remus. He's brushed his hair and is no longer wearing pajama bottoms under his robes. Drawing his knees to his chest, he gives the dog a weary smile.

Sirius crawls out from under the tree and transforms, sitting next to him. "How did you find me?"

"The map," Remus says. "I've officially gifted it to Harry, now that I'm no longer his teacher." He smirks. "I was wondering where my dressing gown had gone. I'd forgotten you were still wearing it."

Sirius looks down self-consciously. The sight of his skeletal chest makes him wish he hadn't. "Suppose I should get dressed."

"Dumbledore's left you a set of robes. Though I'm not sure shocking purple is your color." Remus rests a hand on Sirius's forearm. "Harry's waiting in my office. We were discussing our holiday plans."

" _Our_ plans?"

"Well." He folds his arms. "Since you don't exactly have a place to live at the moment. I thought you would consider... staying with me."

His gaze flicks over Sirius's face before darting away. _You're not the wolf_ , _Lupin_ , Sirius thinks, a mad stray thought. _You're the unicorn._

"The cottage isn't really big enough for the three of us," Remus continues. "But once we set you up with a place of your own, Harry can come and spend the rest of the summer with you. Dumbledore will explain the details, but as long as Harry considers his aunt's house home, he can visit with you. It won't break the magic." He steals a look at Sirius. "Does that sound all right?"

It occurs to Sirius that, if his life were a film, now would be a very good moment to kiss Remus. Something about his smile, his posture, makes him imagine that Remus might even welcome it, that the moon's pull is still at work on him.

But Sirius no longer knows how to kiss, and anyway, kissing is not something he and Remus do anymore. That has been true even longer than Sirius has been a prisoner of Azkaban.

"It sounds fine," he says instead, quietly, and the smile he gets from Remus is almost enough.


	3. Chapter 3

Dumbledore sends them off in one of the thestral-drawn carriages, which he has Disillusioned for the journey. Sirius is not at all clear on the route they're taking, only that it consists of anonymous country lanes with overgrown hedges on either side. 

Remus immediately falls into a profound sleep. Sirius tries to follow suit, but instead his thoughts circle. He is free. Peter is gone. Harry is safe. Simple declarative facts, but they don't mean anything. There's still danger, surely. Peter will reappear, the Ministry will change its mind, Harry will learn that Sirius has no business being anyone's godfather. 

At the rate they're traveling, the journey should take days—but when the carriage comes to a halt, the moon has not yet reached its zenith among the glittering stars. Sirius climbs out of the carriage and finds himself in a packed-dirt yard at the end of a country lane. Across the yard is a cottage, scuffed plaster walls pale in the moonlight. There's a sense of open space, and a smell that tells him they're near the sea.

Remus's house looks like nothing so much as an oversized cowshed with ideas above its station. It has two chimneys, four windows, and a couple of lean-to additions that look precarious at best. Beside it, a tumbledown barn has seen better centuries.

Sirius ducks his head into the carriage. "Remus. We're here."

"I'm awake," Remus murmurs unconvincingly. Sirius lifts out his suitcase and steps aside for him to exit.

They cross the yard, Remus slightly unsteady on his feet. Behind them, the carriage wheels away. Remus unlatches the wide farm door—it doesn't seem to have a lock—and Sirius follows him inside.

With a lazy jab of his wand, Remus lights a candle. Sirius has an impression of a shabby farmhouse interior, if that farmhouse were built to the scale of a cartoon mouse.

Remus picks up the candlestick. "I've got a camp bed upstairs in the spare room. You should take my bed—"

"Don't be a prat," Sirius says. "I slept on a floor last night. The camp bed will be fine."

Remus is evidently too tired to argue. Sirius follows him up a wickedly narrow set of stairs to a small, tidy bedroom with a single postage stamp-sized window. Remus lights more candles and opens a door to a second, smaller room, which seems to serve as a combination study and linen closet. There's a battered pine desk and a bookcase stacked with cardboard boxes, each with neatly-written labels like MAM'S BOOKS and POTION SUPPLIES. Remus folds out the camp bed—it fits through some miracle of geometry—and piles pillows and quilts on top of it. 

"It had a Cushioning Charm, but I'm sure it's worn off—"

"I'll be fine," Sirius says. "I'll see you in the morning."

Remus gives him a faint smile and sets the candlestick on the desk. "There's a bathroom downstairs, by the kitchen. Try not to break your neck on the stairs."

After he closes the door, Sirius doesn't bother undressing. Instead he extinguishes the candle, climbs onto the camp bed, and transforms into Padfoot. He'll sleep more comfortably this way.

He wakes at dawn. This has been his routine since last autumn—rise with the sun, bed down with the stars. The rest of the time has mostly been spent lurking. He has become, if he may flatter himself, an excellent lurker.

He supposes lurking is what he's doing now. He transforms, opens the door as quietly as he can manage, and slips through Remus's bedroom. The floorboards seem to have been hewed from primordial trees at the beginning of time, so solid that they don't creak at all. Remus is lying on his back, sound asleep, mouth slightly open.

Sirius goes downstairs.

Sirius thought a lot about Remus in Azkaban. They're thoughts he doesn't care to dwell on, though they return to him often in dreams. Yet in all that time, he rarely pictured Remus in the here and now, except to conjure an image of him bereft and friendless, and all of it entirely Sirius's fault.

Now, standing in Remus's cozy sitting room, it occurs to him that his old friend has being living his life for the past thirteen years. This cottage, for instance. The sitting room is ludicrously small, but cozy and lived-in, with a sagging sofa and overstuffed armchair facing the empty hearth. There's no dust; Sirius suspects copious self-cleaning charms. A side table is piled with yellowed paperbacks, and a patchwork rug covers the slate-colored quarry tiles. One wall is hung with posters for Muggle bands Sirius has never heard of—Cocteau Twins, The Smiths, a benefit show with the unlikely yet intriguing name of "Pits and Perverts: Lesbians and Gays Support the Miners."

Above the hearth, James and Lily smile and wave from a framed photograph, dressed for their wedding day. In another, Remus and Peter stand arm in arm in their Hogwarts robes. Sirius turns the frame back to front so that he doesn't have to look at it. There are other photographs—a group shot of the Order, Remus standing with his arms around a heavyset man with ginger hair and tiny spectacles and a pretty woman who wears short dreadlocks swept to one side.

It's James and Lily whom Sirius stares at for a long time. He hasn't seen their faces in thirteen years, except in his nightmares.

At last he wipes his eyes dry and finds the bathroom. When he's done, he walks back through the narrow galley kitchen and into the other downstairs room. It's really more of an alcove, with a square table and two chairs, a bookcase packed tightly with cassettes, records, paperbacks. By the door, a straight-backed settle piled with multicolored pillows faces an inglenook fireplace. From a rack in the inglenook hangs a teakettle and a row of coffee mugs—several with an ugly turquoise and brown pattern that Sirius remembers from Remus’s parents’ house, a few more advertising McVitie’s biscuits.

Something about the sight of these ordinary objects makes Sirius understand the truth. He doesn't belong here. Remus cannot possibly welcome the intrusion of his old friend, a man he’s hated for over a decade, into his cozy and orderly life.

***

When Remus comes downstairs, Sirius is curled up on the settle by the inglenook, face buried in a pillow. He's much too tall to fit comfortably, knees drawn up against his chest, Dumbledore's purple brocade robes vivid against the red and blue pillows. Remus makes a mental note to buy Sirius some proper clothes.

He uses his wand to light a few lamps—the cottage gets about two hours of good sunlight, and neither of them are nine in the morning. Then he drops a hand onto Sirius's shoulder. "That doesn't look comfortable."

Sirius respond with what, to Remus's hearing, is a consciously theatrical sigh.

"All right?" Remus rubs Sirius's shoulder briskly and lowers himself onto the cold tiles, groaning arthritically as he does. "What's up?"

Sirius rolls onto his back. "Nothing."

"Sleep well?"

There's a slight pause. "No complaints."

Remus files this information away for later. "I'm going to drive into town for a few groceries. Care to come with me?"

Sirius opens his eyes. "You've got a car?"

"I've got Muggle neighbors. It would look odd if I didn't own one. I've made some adjustments, of course."

"Yeah, I'll come as Padfoot," Sirius says immediately, and transforms before Remus can say anything more.

Remus's car is a 1972 Ford Escort. He believes it was light blue once, but that was before he bought it nine years ago under a salvage title. Cars, it turns out, run pretty much forever with the application of sufficient magic, and while the Escort's faded body and worn-out suspension garner wry comments from the neighbors, the car gives every appearance of being a functioning automobile. Remus has charmed it to make fake engine noise so that no one gets suspicious about what's under the hood (or about the fact that he never adds petrol).

His companion seems to be considerably cheered by the car ride. Remus rolls down a window so that Padfoot can stick his head out for the ten-minute ride into town. When the sea briefly comes into view, he actually barks with joy.

St. Byrnach's is much as Remus left it—a sleepy, slightly rundown market town less than a mile from the coast, a bit busier at this time of year with holidaymakers looking for an affordable seaside getaway. Remus parks on the sloping one-way high street and lets Padfoot out to roam. Once the great black dog is out of sight, he ducks into the charity shop.

After he completes his business there, he heads to the grocery. What with the novelty of a houseguest—and the promise of the Hogwarts' salary in his Gringotts' vault—he decides to splurge. In addition to his usual staples, he selects a pint of local strawberries, a wedge of Caerphilly cheese, a few Cadbury bars, and a half-pound of fresh pollock. Finally, he picks up two aromatic all-day breakfast sandwiches in the prepared food area up front. 

When he returns to the Ford, Padfoot is waiting beside it. He sniffs the bag containing the sandwiches, but Remus shakes his head. "No eating in my car."

Back at the house, he parks behind the barn and carries his purchases inside. When he finishes putting away the groceries, he finds that Sirius has transformed, sitting on the settle and rummaging through the bag from the charity shop.

"You didn't need to do this," he says.

"Truthfully, I'm already tired of looking at that robe," Remus says. "I suppose we should send it back to Dumbledore, though I'm not sure we'd be doing him a kindness." He sets the sandwiches on the table, along with some long-suffering condiments that have been in his pantry since last summer. "Hungry?"

"Let me change," Sirius says. "Since you went to the trouble of buying the clothes." There's something sulky in his tone, though Remus isn't sure it's intentional.

While Sirius is upstairs he makes two cups of tea, adding milk and sugar to Sirius's cup without thinking. Sirius always liked a good strong builder's tea with plenty of milk and sugar, something he picked up from James. Of course Remus no longer knows for certain how Sirius likes his tea. Likely Sirius doesn't know either.

Remus wants to know. He's got one of his best friends back, while Sirius—Sirius has got his life back. Remus wants to be part of it if Sirius will let him.

Sirius comes down in stocking feet wearing a gray knit jumper and jeans. Remus chose the jumper to accommodate Sirius's broad shoulders, but it hangs loose on his underfed frame. Remus is glad he remembered to buy a belt.

Sitting at the table, Remus smiles up at him. "Seems all right."

Sirius drops into the chair beside him and unwraps his sandwich. His long hair is pulled back with what looks like string he discovered in some corner of Remus's rooms at Hogwarts. They'll have to do something about that hair soon, but Remus doesn't think this is the moment to bring it up.

Sirius takes an overlarge bite and swallows. "I'll pay you back after I go to London. For the clothes."

"Don't worry—"

"It's the least I can do," Sirius says, "since I lost you your job." 

Remus cups his tea in both hands. "That's none of your doing." He hesitates. "All my life I've learned to keep secrets. I know it won't be easy, living openly as a werewolf. But to a certain extent, I'm... relieved."

Sirius gives him a flat look. It's obvious he doesn't believe a word of it.

They eat in silence. Then Sirius says, "Is your father still living?"

Right. So they're going to do this. "He is. Dad moved back to Glasgow to be near my aunt's family. I usually go up for Christmas."

"What will he say when he finds out what Snape did?"

"He'll say he was expecting it." Remus isn't sure how much he wants to say to Sirius, not when they're still so new to one another. "There was a row over the Hogwarts job. He didn't want me to take it."

"You did, though."

Remus tries not to prickle at his tone of surprise. "I nearly caved," he admits. "He's always so reasonable. And Mam, you know, she used to cry, and it was just—easier, to do what they wanted."

Sirius looks hard at him. Then he says, "When I go to London, I'll take a room at the Leaky Cauldron."

Remus sets down his tea, startled. "Where is this coming from?"

"This is too much. You don't need me in your hair..."

"We agreed you would stay here until you found a place of your own." Remus's heart is suddenly beating too fast. He's been taking this so calmly, unflappable Professor Lupin. Never mind all the things they haven't talked about, the years he spent believing his best friend betrayed him. The kiss Sirius hasn't let him apologize for.

"It's your choice, of course," he says quickly. He always couches his requests in reasonable terms—his father's son. "But everything else aside, Sirius, I don't think the Cauldron is a good place for you right now."

Sirius's brow creases. "What, has the place gone downhill since they locked me up?"

"You've been headline news for the past year in the _Daily Prophet_ ," Remus says simply.

Sirius takes a moment to absorb that. Remus wonders if he's seen a newspaper since he spotted Peter.

"Sirius," he asks, "is there something I've done?"

Sirius looks at him with an expression of bafflement. "What would you have done?"

"I'm trying to understand why you want to leave. If I've..." Remus swallows. "If I've done the wrong thing—"

"No," Sirius says slowly. "No, I thought—" He looks lost, and for a moment Remus is afraid in a way that he hasn't been before. Has Azkaban left a deeper mark on his friend?

But then Sirius shakes his head, and covers his face with his hands. "Sorry. But I don't really belong here, do I? I'm not..." He looks up over the tent of his fingers. "I'm not one of the photographs on your mantelpiece."

Remus can't help it—he laughs.

"That's an omission, isn't it?" he says, brightly as he can manage. "We'll have to go through my albums and find a good one. Let's leave it till the afternoon, though—I think I want a nap first."

He reaches across the table and pulls one of Sirius's hands into his own. "This has been a hell of a week," he says. "But believe me—you're the one person I want here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remus's cottage is inspired by [Treleddyd Fawr](https://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/holidays/treleddyd-fawr-cottage-wales), which turns out to be a rather famous Pembrokeshire cottage. Here's a [lovely remembrance](http://www.jackiemorris.co.uk/last-words/) of the man who left it to the National Trust.
> 
> ["Pits and Perverts"](https://www.gayinthe80s.com/2013/05/1984-pits-and-perverts-benefit-concert/) was a benefit show that supported a National Union of Mineworkers strike during the Thatcher era.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: homophobia and anti-gay slurs.

Sirius Black has visited the Lupin household on two occasions. The first time went as well as could be expected. The second time, considerably less so.

After Remus went away to school, Lyall and Hope Lupin settled in the hilly countryside between the Brecon Beacons and the upper Wye valley, close enough to the Vale for weekend visits with Hope's family, but not so close that the Muggle Howells would drop in while Remus was home during school holidays.

(Remus's father was not a popular figure in Hope's family. The difficulty of concealing Remus's condition had resulted in frequent moves to increasingly remote locations, which Hope had attributed to "Lyall's work." The Howells could not understand why an agricultural inspector would move house every two years. The general consensus was that he belonged to a Glasgow crime family, and that "Lupin" was an alias.)

Sirius's first visit to the Lupin house was the summer after fourth year, a prelude to a two-week stay with the Potters. It would be Remus's first ever overnight visit at a friend's house. The invitation had been accompanied by months of negotiations between Remus and his parents, each letter home crafted with input from all four Marauders. When the Lupins finally agreed, it had been on the condition that James, Sirius, and Peter spend the preceding weekend with them in Wales.

The weekend had gone well, despite Remus's obvious nerves. James had charmed Lyall with tales of the resident spirits of Godric's Hollow, while Peter and Hope had talked for over an hour about the similarities between Arithmancy and actuarial science. As for Sirius, he flattered himself that he'd ingratiated himself to the Lupins by being a good friend to their son.

As rain pelted against the slate roof, Sirius and Remus spent an afternoon listening to Remus's Muggle records while Peter and James played Exploding Snap. (Peter had never taken to Muggle music, and James' knowledge of the form began and ended with the Beatles.) Hope did not entirely approve of Remus's music. She'd threatened to throw out all his records when he'd brought home _The Man Who Sold the World_ , with David Bowie reclined in a floral dress on the album cover. ("It's no different than wizard robes, Hopey," had been Lyall's method of defusing the argument.) But now she seemed pleased to see her lonely teenage son huddled with his friend in the corner of the sitting room, laughing as they listened to The Who and traded comic books back and forth. Sirius had been rewarded with a warm smile and endless plates of bakewell tarts.

The following day, Hope and the boys went to Hay-on-Wye, Hope driving them in her treasured olive green Capri, which despite its age looked as if it had just driven off the showroom floor. Even before the Lupins had moved to the area, the bookshops of Hay-on-Wye had been the site of an annual family pilgrimage. Just as Sirius's house was full of sinister magical artifacts, Remus's house was full of books. There were rare magical tomes on spirits and apparitions, broken-spined Herbology manuals, and endless shelves of Muggle literature. Sirius had seen Hope Lupin read a novel while cooking breakfast, and Remus claimed that instead of bedtime stories, his mother had brought him up on the poetry of Gerald Manley Hopkins, T.S. Eliot, and Dylan Thomas. (The one time Lyall had been foolish enough to point out that Dylan Thomas was a socialist, he'd gotten the world's iciest glare and boiled mackerel for dinner.)

Sirius remembers the trip to Hay-on-Wye because it was the first time he'd been in a bookshop with Remus. Sirius had spent the past year becoming gradually aware of how much he liked to watch Remus when Remus wasn't looking—the way he bit his bottom lip when he was thinking, how when his hair fell into his eyes, he would lift a slender hand to brush it away.

Now Remus bent over a copy of _Titus Groan_ , and Sirius watched his neck arch as he bent over the book, his faint smile as he turned a page. Sirius imagined, for the first time ever, brushing his fingers softly against the side of Remus's neck, and the next moment wondered what was wrong with him, that he would imagine something like that.

The next visit was not nearly so successful.

It was spring of 1979. Sirius, Remus, and Lily were returning from Ireland, a visit on the behest of the Irish Minister for Magic (with whom Albus Dumbledore was presently rather more popular than with Britain's Minister).

Lily had suggested the stopover with the Lupins, though Remus had been visibly hesitant. Later Sirius would understand that there were two reasons for this hesitance. First, Remus had only seen his parents twice since he had joined up full-time with the Order of the Phoenix. The Lupins did not know the name of the organization his son belonged to, but they knew he was taking deadly risks in order to fight Voldemort's Death Eaters, and neither approved.

Second, Margaret Thatcher had become prime minister two weeks earlier, and Hope Lupin was over the moon with joy.

Lily, somewhat uncharacteristically, tried to keep the peace. When Hope railed at length about the previous winter's strikes, Lily broke in to compliment Hope's shepherd pie and ask for the recipe. When Hope made a reference to immigrants "who don't understand the culture" and Remus said, "Mam, honestly," Lily smiled and said briskly, "Well, not everyone sees eye to eye on that, Hope," before asking Lyall about the latest additions to his collection of musical houseplants.

Somehow they made it through dinner. Remus disappeared into his old bedroom to retrieve a box of records he'd left behind when he'd moved out last year. Sirius sat on the Lupins' mustard-yellow sofa and listened to Hope Lupin enthuse about Thatcher's recent rally in Cardiff, while Lily and Lyall tried to steer the conversation back to the Voyager photos of Jupiter's rings. ("Nothing our astronomers didn't already know about.")

Remus came to the bottom of the stairs. "Mam, have you seen my records? All my Elton Johns, and the Patti Smith Dad bought me last year."

"Haven't seen them, Remus _bach_." Hope shot an annoyed look at her husband. "Why you encourage him, I don't know. They're all queers and communists, these rock stars."

An icy silence settled over the room and into the pit of Sirius's stomach.

"And what's wrong with that?" he said loudly.

Hope's eyes cut toward him. She looked him up and down—his shag haircut, which presently fell to his shoulders, the denim jacket he'd taken to wearing instead of wizard robes. Behind her, Remus stood stock-still as if he'd been Petrified.

"There's such a thing as setting a good example," Hope said primly.

Sirius's hands gripped his knees. "Listening to Elton John didn't make me bent," he said, each word hard and distinct.

Hope's mouth became the thinnest possible line, two splotches of color appearing on her pale cheeks. Her face was rounder than Remus's, and her hair darker, but they had the same slightly upturned nose and hazel eyes.

"I remember you being a very nice young man, Sirius Black," she said quietly.

"He still is," Lily said fiercely. "Sirius is one of the best and bravest people I know."

"Let it go, Hopey," Lyall said in an undertone. "There's no need to discuss it."

But Sirius had had enough. He swept out of the room and through the door into the back garden.

It was a clear evening. Sunlight gathered at the horizon, while the first stars lay scattered across the darkening sky like charmed light. Sirius leaned against the side of the house with a shaky exhale.

The door opened and closed, and he turned to see Remus's pale face.

"I'm so sorry," Remus said rapidly. "She was out of line."

"If I wanted to hear about fairies and queers, I would have gone home to my own mother."

"I know. I'm sorry. I think my mother must be the only Tory in all of Wales. And Dad's no better, he never tells her off."

"I don't see you telling her off either," Sirius said quietly.

Remus looked at the ground. "Don't, Pads. I... can't. Not with her."

“Not with anyone.” Sirius heard the edge in his own voice, but he couldn't seem to shake it. "Whenever someone wants to run me down, I’m left taking it alone." 

Remus took a step away. "I've told them we're leaving. Lily's waiting out front."

"Yes, and didn't you hear Lily? She doesn't care. None of your friends would care—"

"Stop. Please stop." Remus turned away. "We're not having this conversation again. It's my decision. You don't get to make it for me."

The last time Sirius Black had kissed Remus Lupin was one year and four months ago. He told himself that he didn't miss it. All things considered, they were better off as friends. Really, he didn't think about it much at all.

The truth was that Sirius thought about it all the time. Right now, he thought he would like to take Remus by the shoulders and kiss him very gently. He imagined that Remus would return the kiss, and pull away, and look at him with smiling eyes. Then he would march into his parents' house and say what needed to be said.

Instead Remus turned from him and said, "Let's just go."

They walked around to where Lily was waiting in the gathering darkness.


	5. Chapter 5

They spend the next week napping, mostly. It rains off and on all week, and as rain in this part of Pembrokeshire generally falls sideways, they're confined to the indoors.

Remus stretches out on the sofa and rereads Salman Rushdie's _Midnight's Children_ (the Flourish & Blotts edition with moving cover art). The book distracts him from his own gloomy thoughts, such as the knowledge that his outing as a werewolf is bound to be front-page news in the _Daily Prophet_. He is now a pariah in the magical community, and none of his friends (who can presently be counted on both hands, with fingers to spare) have owled or Flooed him, nor has his father been in touch. He will never see most of his students again. Really, if he ever steps foot on the grounds of Hogwarts again it will be a minor miracle.

Meanwhile, Sirius, who says cushions give him a backache, snoozes on the patchwork rug as Padfoot, or lies on his back and listens to cassette tapes on the Spellophonic sound system that Remus's father gifted him for Christmas several years back.

Remus knows it is probably his duty to catch up Sirius on thirteen years of world events. ("Oh, the Berlin Wall fell!" he remembers to mention one morning over breakfast.) However, the prospect of recounting Thatcher, Reagan, the fall of the USSR, AIDS, the Gulf War, Tienanmen Square, the European Union, and the competent but occasionally authoritarian administration of Millicent Bagnold to a depressed ex-con who's spent the past year as a dog—well, it's nothing Remus looks forward to.

In lieu of world politics, he decides to introduce Sirius to the last thirteen years of Muggle music.

Remus's music collection is his single luxury in this world. Several years back he switched from records to cassettes, though the Spellophonic does have a turntable for his older collection. Afternoons, he kneels in front of the bookcase beside the stairs and picks out albums for Sirius to try.

At first he's pretty sure Sirius is humoring him, but his interest in their listening sessions seems to grow as the days pass. A number of Remus's favorites do little for him—the Smiths are "too mopey," the Violent Femmes are "a bit twee, really." Others are predictable hits: the new P.J. Harvey album Remus's friend Tony sent him for his birthday. Devo's _Freedom of Choice_ , which they both missed the first time round. (Sirius making instant coffee and shimmying his hips in time to the music, mouthing "Whip it, whip it good," is not a sight Remus is going to forget anytime soon.)

To Remus's relief, Sirius is similarly enthusiastic about _Purple Rain_ —if there was disagreement there, Pads really might have to go stay at the Leaky Cauldron. More unexpected is the shine he takes to Cyndi Lauper. ("Let's listen to that one again," he says as the last track of _She's So Unusual_ comes to a close.)

Then Sirius discovers Nick Drake.

Remus puts on the tape without any thought of whether Sirius will care for it—he just wants something mellow to listen to while he makes dinner. Sirius, who has not offered to cook a meal since he arrived (and frankly, Remus wouldn't trust him to boil an egg just yet), brings in a chair from the front room and is leaning back in it with the front two legs off the floor. He's developed an unnerving yet very Padfoot-like habit of following Remus from room to room.

Abruptly, the chair's front legs crash onto the tile floor. "Who is this?" he asks, as acoustic guitar and a soft, melodic voice float through the cottage.

"Nick Drake," Remus says, slicing onions for a curry. "Recorded in the seventies, but no one took note till years after he'd died."

Sirius listens with a fixed expression that Remus can't make sense of. Sirius doesn't like folk music or singer-songwriters. For years he took the piss out of Remus whenever he listened to his father's Simon & Garfunkel albums. His drunken, magically amplified mock-performance of "Both Sides Now" in the Hogwarts courtyard was the sole reason Gryffindor lost the House Cup their sixth year.

When Side A ends, Sirius goes into the sitting room and flips the cassette.

When the album is over, he turns it around again, and they listen to _Pink Moon_ a second time.

After dinner, Remus digs out _Five Leaves Left_ and _Bryter Layter_. Sirius listens to them back to back. Then he starts up _Pink Moon_ again.

The album is only thirty minutes long. By the time they go to bed, they've listened to it four times. Remus can't decide if this is a positive development or if he's unleashed something dangerous. Nick Drake, with his somber melodies and tragic early death, has become a watchword for depressed artists. Remus has always found his songs soothing rather than melancholic, but nevertheless it is definitely Depression Music, if such a thing exists.

(For his part, Remus didn't listen to music for more than two years after James and Lily died. He still remembers the afternoon in 1984 when he put on David Bowie's _Hunky Dory_ and was able to listen to the entire album.)

The next morning, Remus comes down to find Sirius in the armchair by the stereo, drinking instant coffee and listening to _Five Leaves Left_.

_"Time has told me you're a rare, rare find... a troubled cure for a troubled mind..."_

"It's stopped raining," Remus says. "Care for a walk? The tide's out, we can go down to the beach. You can go as Padfoot if you like."

"No thanks," Sirius says absently.

"Suit yourself," Remus says, trying for casualness. "I think I'll go after breakfast, I could use the fresh air. Afterward I've got to go into Swansea and fill in some forms at the teacher agency."

"Swansea?" Sirius repeats, sitting up slightly.

"I get some work as a Muggle supply teacher during the year. Or, er, I did. So I'll need to get that started up again."

"Yeah, I'll come," Sirius says, straightening up so quickly that his coffee spills.

Remus looks at Sirius. More specifically, he looks at Sirius's hair.

He hasn't said anything about Sirius's hair since they came home. Remus is certain it will need to be cut. There is entropy in the universe against which magic is powerless, and Sirius's hair is a textbook example. But Sirius has not said anything about his hair, and so Remus has politely avoided the subject, just as he hasn't commented on the fact that Sirius hasn't bathed since they left Hogwarts and has been wearing the same gray jumper every day.

"Er, there's a wizarding district in Swansea, isn't there?" Sirius says rapidly. "I should send an owl while we're there. I was thinking I would write to the estate agent in Hogsmeade—Harkiss and Greenshields, are they still in business? I'd like to buy something in the village. Harry can visit on weekends when he's in school, and I'll be close by." Sirius rubs his eyes. "Surprised he hasn't written yet, but he said it might be a few days."

Considering Sirius is the reason Hogsmeade has spent the past year under Dementor patrol, Remus feels the idea of him buying a house there is a deeply terrible one. He decides this is another thought he'll keep to himself for the time being.

"Why don't I send an owl for you while I'm out?" he offers. "I'm bound to take a while at the agency. Castell Lane isn't exactly Diagon Alley... I don't want you to get bored..."

Sirius's expression goes wooden. "Right," he says softly. "If you don't want me to come, I won't come."

"Of course you can come." Remus scrambles for words. "But well... neither of us has left the house in a week, and we're both a little... We could do with some cleaning up, couldn't we?"

"Cleaning up," Sirius repeats blankly.

"Sirius... _your hair_."

Britain's most awkward silence ensues. Finally Sirius says, "I haven't got a wand. Or scissors."

Remus comes to sit on the sofa. The coffee cup is shaking alarmingly in Sirius's hand, so Remus takes it and sets it on the floor. "Well, I've got both. You just had to ask."

Sirius's eyes are wide and blank as owl's; it's as if Remus has spoken a foreign language.

"I… er… can't," he says finally, breathily. "I mean, I keep forgetting that I can. Ask for anything." He hides his thin face behind a hand. "Fuck. You must think I'm cracking up."

Remus's vision blurs. "I don't think that," he says. "Come here."

Sirius comes and sits on the sofa beside him, and Remus puts his arms around him. Immediately Sirius sinks into his embrace. He's so skinny, his heartbeat like a trapped bird against Remus's chest. Remus leans in so that they're cheek to cheek, Sirius's breath warm against his ear.

He can't understand why he hasn't done this before now. It's the only thing he's any good at—comforting people, making them feel safe. (The irony of a werewolf making anyone feel safe doesn't escape him.)

They hold each other for a long time, just breathing.

"I'll look like a right berk," Sirius says after a time. "With my hair gone."

Remus smiles. "I think I can leave you a couple inches. Near the roots, it isn't nearly as bad." He sighs. "I should have said something earlier. I'm sorry. I felt awkward."

"Don't be sorry, Moony. You've been..." An exhaled breath. "When I was chasing Peter, I was all right. Now..."

"I know." Remus releases him, keeping a hand against Sirius' back. "Just one thing. Can we listen to something else? I'm a bit done with Nick Drake for the moment."

Sirius's smile is almost mischievous. "You've uncovered my plan," he says hoarsely. "Drive you loony, and make off with your cassette tapes."

"I'm glad you like the music."

Sirius sobers. "Muggles feel them," he says slowly, "don't they."

Remus doesn't have to ask what he's talking about. "Wizards used to believe that all melancholy was caused by Dementors. Now we know that mental illness simply makes us more susceptible to them."

"But he sang anyway," Sirius says, and his eyes are bright in his wasted face. 

***

Sirius enjoys his haircut more than he expected.

They walk up stone steps to a sunny patch of grass behind the house. An overgrown hedge of blackthorn separates it from a neighboring pasture.

Remus conjures a chair and lays a bedsheet over Sirius's shoulders. "I'm going to start with the scissors. I think that will give me a bit more control."

Sirius doesn't think much about the fact that no one has touched him in thirteen years. If anything, the thought of other people laying their hands on him makes him feel jumpy, uneasy. Yet the sensation of Remus's fingers working their way across his scalp is strangely comforting. With each snip, long pieces of hair flutter to the ground. When Remus's thumb brushes the tip of his ear, Sirius feels it as a jolt in his spine—but a nice jolt.

"It must be bloody awful," he says.

"Oddly satisfying, actually," Remus says, with a tone of extreme concentration.

Once most of the length is gone, Remus douses Sirius with few quick hair-washing and detangling charms. Sirius feels the grease pull from his hair. His head feels light; the morning breeze is cool against the back of his neck.

"Here's the part where you've got to trust me," Remus says. "I'll try not to cut any ears off. Ready?"

"Yeah."

Remus places his wand against a strand of hair, marking the length he wants to cut it.

" _Tonsilis_!"

Sirius's scalp itches slightly, and his head feels lighter.

"Well, I think that came out well," Remus says. "Want to see?"

Sirius's heart leaps. He's been avoiding mirrors; the sight of his own face is too disturbing.

Remus must catch his mood from his expression. "You can look later. Let me get this hair off you—"

"Just show me," Sirius says quickly. "I'd rather get it over with."

Remus looks doubtful, but he nods. Wordlessly he draws a box in the air with his wand, and it becomes a mirror.

Sirius looks at his reflection Remus is right—his hair looks fine. It's about two inches long, rather lank and shapeless, but clean and undamaged.

His face is less appealing. His skin is tight over hollow cheeks, and the color is chalky; he's been spending too much time as Padfoot to get any sun. His eyes are dull, and the moment he meets his own gaze he wishes he hadn't—the word _haunted_ comes to mind.

"Well, that's the worst thing I'll see today," he says, turning away. "Not your fault," he adds quickly, realizing that Remus looks stricken. "You did fine. I just happen to look like a Halloween mask."

"Vain," Remus says gently. "Neither of us are going to win trophies in the looks apartment, I'm afraid." He uses his wand to blow the remaining hair from Sirius's neck and shoulders.

Sirius glares at him. "What are you talking about? You look good."

Remus raises his eyebrows. Sirius supposes his face is more lined than might be usual for a man of his age, and of course he's a bit peaky, but that's just Remus.

"You look fine!" Sirius stands, pulling off the bedsheet to shake it out. "Better than fine."

"I'm going gray at thirty-four."

"Yes, I noticed. And if you don't know how attractive it looks, you're an even bigger prat than I thought."

When Remus's cheeks turn pink, he's not sorry he said it. Remus turns away. "No accounting for taste," he says, but Sirius can hear the smile in his voice. "Let's see. I was going to vanish this hair, but I'm not sure I want it to rejoin the fabric of the universe. Maybe we should bury it."

"Viking funeral," Sirius suggests.

"Ugh." Remus wrinkles his nose. "The neighbors would give us a Viking funeral. The stench would travel for miles."

Before they Floo to Swansea, Remus conjures a pair of sunglasses so that Sirius can send an owl in Castell Lane without being recognized. Even still, Sirius feels eyes watching him the moment he steps out of the public fireplace in the post office. It would seem his appearance attracts attention all on its own.

After he finishes his business, he goes into a back alley and transforms into Padfoot. He spends the rest of the outing down at the beach, sprinting along the surf and chasing gulls. A young woman with crimped hair and a floral bikini gives him the drippy remains of her ice cream. Sirius follows her back to where her friends are sitting and spends twenty minutes listening to transistor radio and catching a frisbee thrown by her boyfriend, who is tow-haired and improbably muscular. Sirius considers the possibility of living out the rest of his life in dog form. Certainly other human beings seem to like him a lot better this way.

After an hour he goes to retrieve Remus at the teaching agency. When they return to the post office to travel home, a different clerk is behind the counter, a woman with a light blue hijab. Sirius is pretty sure she recognizes them—her eyes and mouth go round at once, and she whispers something to her customer, an elderly woman with a fuschia-feathered Fwooper chattering inaudibly on her shoulder. The older woman turns and gives him a McGonagall-like glare.

That glare stays with him on the jolting Floo ride home. It's the sort of look his mother might have given him when he said something unbecoming at the dinner table.

But the moment he steps out of the inglenook into Remus's cottage, it occurs to Sirius that he doesn't care. He has his freedom, and a godson needs him, and today Remus gave him a haircut and a pretty girl gave him an ice cream cone. Sirius is a long way from being all right in his head or at home in his own skin, but he isn't going to measure his new life by the approval of strangers. He's got better things to do.

As if the universe has heard his thoughts, a tapping noise sounds beside him, and he turns to see a snowy owl sitting on the windowsill.

Sirius recognizes Harry's owl from the night they encountered one another outside his uncle's house. Sure enough, he opens the casement and sees, with a jolt of excitement, a letter addressed to _Sirius Black_ in a teenager's scratchy handwriting.

Remus has climbed out of the fireplace behind him. "I'll get her some water," he says. "Letter from Harry?"

Sirius nods and breaks the seal. He reads the letter through once, and then more slowly a second time.

Harry is, he says, doing all right. His aunt and uncle, who normally lock his school things in a cupboard under the stairs during summer holidays—"Bloody Muggles," Sirius mutters—have allowed Harry to keep his textbooks, wand, and broom after hearing about the ex-convict godfather who has started taking an interest in his welfare. Yet Harry's cousin Dudley is on a diet, and the entire family is suffering through meals of grapefruit and carrot sticks. Sirius remembers how small and slight Harry is, like a skinnier version of James.

"We'll send him a care package," he tells the snowy owl. "And when he comes to stay, pizza every day of the week."

Remus sets a dish of water on the windowsill. The owl chirps happily and starts drinking. Sirius goes upstairs to scrounge some of Remus's writing supplies. He sits on the camp bed and writes a quick response.

 _I'll be house-hunting soon and hope to be settled by the beginning of July. In the meantime, I am keeping Lupin out of trouble._ The letter is breezy and cheerful, flowing easily from his quill. When he looks down at the finished letter, it's as if someone else has written the words.

When he comes back down, Remus is sitting in the front room, watching the owl groom itself on the windowsill.

"Mind if I drive down to the village?" Sirius asks. "Harry says hi, by the way. Those Muggles have got his cousin on a diet, and they're making Harry eat the same food. I want to send him some treats."

"I'm not letting you drive my car," Remus says. "I'll take you down in a few minutes." He pauses. "Please don't call them that."

"What?"

"'Those Muggles.' Don't misunderstand me—I'm well aware that Harry's aunt and uncle have, well, a number of personal defects. But I don't agree with labeling individuals by their magical status."

"I didn't mean anything by it," Sirius says, ruffled.

"Maybe not," Remus says. "But other people do."

Sirius is about to make a rejoinder, when a loud _pop_ outside makes them both start. Sirius exchanges a wordless look with Remus.

Remus nods and leans forward to look out the open window.

" _Beth gythraul_ ," he swears under his breath. "Rosie?"


	6. Chapter 6

Remus pushes open the door, and Sirius sees a woman standing in the front garden. After a moment he recognizes her—it's the woman from the photograph on Remus's mantelpiece.

She's a few years older than in the picture, her hair now in short plaits that curve across her scalp and fall over one ear. She and Remus appear to have the same taste in clothing—jeans, t-shirt, and an oversized knit cardigan, though the woman's cardigan has colorful badges pinned on the front. A huge grin appears on her face, and when Remus comes near, she hugs him warmly, kissing both cheeks.

Sirius folds his arms, trying to quell the surge of jealousy rising inside him. Even when they were teenagers and Remus was pulling his clothes off in the bedroom of the Shrieking Shack, there was never any cheek-kissing going on. It is unmistakable who this woman is to Remus. He wants nothing more than to disappear into the earth, and considers transforming into Padfoot, but can't quite bring himself to turn tail in such a literal way.

"What are you doing here?" Remus is saying, but the woman has already looked past him and seen Sirius.

"Anansi's balls," she exclaims in an accent that Sirius places as Jamaican by way of London. "Sirius Black?"

"Hello," Sirius says in a monotone.

"Sirius is my houseguest," Remus tells her.

Rosie lifts her eyebrows at Remus in what is most definitely a salacious manner. Sirius isn't sure if he already likes or hates this woman.

"Glad to hear that somebody's looking after you," she says. "I'm intruding, clearly, and I wouldn't have come, but I just got the strangest letter from your father."

Remus takes a step back. "My _father_?"

"Yes." Rosie gives him a frustrated look. "He does know that we split up? Three years ago?"

"Of course he does!" Remus exclaims, with a stricken look toward Sirius.

"I'll, er—" Sirius walks to the door.

He's certain Remus and Rosie are talking about him in low voices, but he doesn't take any notice as he goes inside. Upstairs, he falls heavily onto the camp bed (freshly Cushion Charmed) and covers his face with his hands.

Sirius is pretty sure, under different circumstances, he would be delighted to learn that Remus has a Rosie to look in on him at a time like this. It's not as if Sirius has any claim on Remus. Their breakup—if you can even call it that—was a full sixteen years ago. But at the moment Sirius has never felt more selfish. He doesn't want to share Remus with anyone else right now, not when he's just got him back.

Footfalls on the stairs make him sit up quickly and pretend he hasn't been moping like a scorned adolescent.

Remus appears in the doorway. "Hello there."

"Giving you some privacy," Sirius says gruffly.

"No need for privacy," Remus says with a laugh. "Come down. I could use the moral support. When Dad writes a letter, it's no joking matter."

Sirius avoids his gaze. "I think I've already embarrassed myself enough."

"You haven't done. Rosie's the one embarrassed for dropping in on us like this."

Sirius sees, in a moment of clarity, what a heel he is being. "Right," he says, rising from the camp bed. "Right, I'll—"

"You'll like Rosie," Remus says, giving him a private smile, and slips a hand through Sirius's, leading him out of the room.

They've got to break apart to go down the stairs, but Sirius still feels the imprint of Remus's hand against his, warm and slightly calloused. He wonders idly how he can get Remus to hold his hand again without seeming too desperate.

Rosie is sitting in the armchair by the fireplace with a steaming cup of tea in her hands. She smiles at Sirius with her eyes. "I feel really thoughtless," she says. "You must be thinking, who is this strange woman?"

"You're the woman in the photograph," Sirius says automatically.

Rosie follows his gaze to the mantelpiece and grins with delight. "Oh, I forgot you've got me and Tony up there!" She sobers slightly. "Tony's been in touch, yeah?"

Remus takes a seat, and Sirius joins him on the sofa. "Not yet," he says lightly.

Rosie sips her tea. "Well, you know, he can be a bit wrapped up in himself. You'll get a Floo from him in a month, I guarantee it. I'm sorry I didn't write. I was in the middle of quite a large order, and I didn't pick up a newspaper until yesterday."

"Rosie makes the housings for Time-Turners," Remus says.

"All sorts of magical components," Rosie says. "I'm a contractor. I've been finishing up an order of Omnioculars for the World Cup, and it's been hell—my supplier for magical-grade brass was backordered for weeks." She hands a letter to Remus. "Here you are. I think it deserves a dramatic reading."

"I am not reading it aloud," Remus says flatly. He reads through the letter quickly, pausing halfway through to mutter, "Jesus Christ," in one of the broadest Welsh accents Sirius has ever heard come out of his mouth. Near the end, there's a "Ha!", pronounced without amusement. When he's done, he wordlessly hands it to Sirius.

Feeling like an eavesdropper, Sirius reads the letter.

_My dear Rosie,_

_I hope you are well._ _I must apologize_ _for what is no doubt an unexpected_ _and, you may even feel,_ _presumptuous, letter. However, the matter that brings my quill to parchment is an urgent one. It is my impression_ _that Remus still considers you a close friend, and_ _I must trust that you hold his best interests to heart. I hope that by_ _writing, I may_ _alert you to the grave threat_ _he is presently_ _facing._

_I understand that_ _you have been aware of Remus's_ _condition_ _for some time. No doubt you have seen the recent stories in the_ Daily Prophet _about his sacking from Hogwarts._ ("You weren't sacked!" Sirius exclaims. "You resigned!") _I must say that_ _Remus took this position against my advice. Now it seems that my misgivings were warranted._

_As an expert_ _with almost forty years of experience with Dark Creatures—first in my capacity at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and later, as caregiver to my son—I have spent decades following matters related to werewolves. While I regret that Remus_ _has lost a position that meant so much to him, I am beyond alarmed that he has been "outed" publicly in the_ Prophet _. Quite apart from the social prejudice he must now face, Remus's "outing" exposes him to a new threat—the werewolf community in Britain._

_Like other outcast social groups, werewolves have not been immune to the "consciousness-raising" movements of the past three decades. While I am extremely sympathetic to their plight, the werewolf rights movement in this country has been_ _radicalized by a criminal element. Fringe leaders such as Fenrir Greyback—the predator responsible for Remus's condition—are extremely popular with these individuals. They_ _support dangerous policies such as the abolition of the Werewolf Registry._ ("But _he_ never put you on the Registry!") _Worse, many take no precautions_ _at the full moon, arguing that such measures are a form of oppression enacted by wizards. As a result, dozens_ _Muggles have been brutally murdered, while lycanthropy spreads at an epidemic rate through the magical_ _population._

_Now that Remus's status_ _is publicly known, they_ will _attempt to recruit him. Remus has just suffered a devastating_ _personal setback, and his present emotional state, as well as his own trusting nature, may blind him to the nature of these "allies."_ _I will also say_ _that I am highly concerned about the return of his old "friend," Black. No doubt Dumbledore and the Ministry know their business, but in my mind there are many unanswered questions about Black's innocence._

_Remus has not been in touch_ _since departing_ _Hogwarts. It is my fear that_ _Greyback's operatives may have already_ _contacted him. For this reason, I am reaching out to you, my dear. I know that you, like my son,_ _are active in the social movements of the day. Perhaps you are_ _inclined to give such individuals a hearing. I beg you,_ Do not trust them. _They are using the language of progress_ _to sow violence and anarchy._

_If you could respond at your earliest convenience and assure me of Remus's safety, I would be so grateful. It would be a great weight off my shoulders._

_Yours with fondness,_

_Lyall Lupin_

"What a load of bollocks," Sirius says, tossing the letter back to Remus.

"He's fond of his inverted commas, your dad," Rosie says with something that isn't quite a laugh.

Remus folds it closed with tight creases. He's very pale. "He can't really believe what he's writing. It's true that Greyback has followers, but they're _minuscule_ compared to the population of werewolves in Britain—"

"We know, love," Rosie says.

"I liked that bit about your trusting nature," Sirius says. "Like you're some sort of gothic heroine." When Remus and Rosie give him a bemused look, he shrugs. "Pureblood. The only Muggle novels I had growing up were two hundred years out of date."

"What should I tell him?" A mischievous look sneaks onto Rosie's face. "Or perhaps it's too late. You're already compromised."

"You're not writing to him!" Remus is absently folding the letter smaller. "I'll go and see him tomorrow."

"What?" Sirius interjects. "Why should you?"

"He's obviously worked himself up over this—"

"Remus, love, your father has been working himself up for thirty years," Rosie says. "Haven't you been through enough, without subjecting yourself to his nonsense?"

Remus hesitates. "He's been trying to change..."

"You've forced him to change, by standing up for yourself when he pulls stunts like this." Rosie taps a finger on the letter, now a tiny square in Remus's hand. "This is a man who wants attention. Don't give it to him." Her eyebrows arch. "I could write a really good letter, you know..."

"No!" Remus is on the verge of laughter. "Why my father still _likes_ you—"

"Oh, you know why," Rosie says playfully. "I mean, beside the fact that for once his son was dating a _girl_. It's because we're both massive swots."

Remus lets out a short laugh. "You know that story," he says, turning to Sirius, "my dad used to tell whenever he met someone new, about the poltergeist in Gloucestershire... Well, first time he met Rosie, he starts in on it, and I go to see about dinner. Forty-five minutes later, I come back and she's—"

"Taking notes," Rosie finishes proudly. "Your dad's a genius, Remus! An absolutely fascinating man. He just also happens to be a complete arsehole on certain topics."

Remus's smile thins. "Sadly, I happen to be one of them."

There's a fragile silence. "I'm sorry I haven't been in touch lately," Rosie says finally. "I've been busy, and... You'll come to Hackney, yeah? Come for supper, you can meet Ophelia..."

"Of course I'll come," Remus says earnestly.

Rosie smiles and sets aside her remaining tea. "I'll go," she says, standing. "It was lovely to meet you, Sirius. I wish you the very best. I expect you to keep this one in line."

"Do what I can," Sirius says gamely.

Remus rises. "Rose—"

Rosie gives him a quick hug, the badges on her cardigan clattering as she releases him. "Take care of yourself. You can Floo me anytime if you need to talk. You know that, right?"

"The offer's mutual," Remus says with a faint smile.

"Kind man," Rosie says, resting an affectionate hand on his arm. "He's lovely at inspirational talks," she says conversationally to Sirius. "You should try him sometime."

She drops her hand. "Love you," she says.

Then she walks away. The door opens and closes, and there's the pop of her Disapparation.

Remus sits again. "And that's Rosie."

"How, er... how did you two meet?" Sirius believes this is the correct question to ask when you've just met your ex-boyfriend's ex-girlfriend for the first time, but frankly ten minutes with Rosie has left him slightly disoriented. He supposes he is out of practice with humans; most of his recent interactions have been with a hyper-intelligent cat.

Unexpectedly, Remus starts laughing, like he's just been told a very funny story. "Oh, good question. We were almost arrested."

"You're serious?"

Remus crooks a smile at his words, and Sirius, realizing, grins back. Neither has to say the old joke aloud.

"I am quite serious," Remus continues. "Rose and I met in a wizarding group, one for lesbians and gays. Er, there's a lot of history there I haven't told you yet, but we were at a protest at St. Mungo's—a die-in—"

"A what?"

"I'll explain later," Remus says, looking oddly stricken. "At any rate, I didn't normally participate in the protests themselves. If I were ever rounded up and held through a full moon, it would be a disaster. But this was an important action, and it was agreed that some of us would risk arrest and some would Disapparate out.

"Everything went smoothly, until the moment came for me to make my escape. The Magical Law Enforcement Squad had just showed up, and I suppose I panicked. Rosie was standing nearby, so I grabbed her and Side-Along Apparated away. Even though she was one of the ones who was meant to stay and risk arrest."

"Don't imagine she wasn't pleased."

"She was furious! I explained it was nerves left over from the war, and that won her over a little. We became friends, and... well." Remus looks embarrassed. "I'm glad we can still be friends now. Rosie and Tony are two of the only people who know what I am."

"What happened?" Sirius asks flatly. He doesn't feel jealous anymore. How can he? It's obvious that Remus and this woman adore one another. They belong together in a way that he and Remus never will.

Remus folds his arms. "Rosie and I were friends for a while before we got together. I was out as bisexual, but for the longest time I didn't think she was interested, I thought she only dated women. As did everyone else. When we did become a couple, some of her friends were... not pleased. This was her community, they meant everything to her. It created a strain in the relationship, quite early on." He tries for a smile. "I think 'crashed and burned' would be an accurate description."

"That's utter bollocks," Sirius says. "What business was it of theirs, who she was seeing?"

"I like to think they were trying to protect her. And they were right, though they didn't know it. Rosie can do a lot better than an unemployed werewolf."

"Bollocks," Sirius says quietly.

Remus gives him a grateful smile.

Just at that moment, the snowy owl outside the window chirps loudly.

"Oh fuck," Sirius exclaims. "I forgot about the owl."

Remus laughs. "I'll drive you into town," he says. "We can buy some extra sweets, we haven't got to send them all to Harry."

***

Growing up in the household of one of Britain's leading experts on Boggarts, poltergeists, and other Non-Human Spiritous Apparitions, Remus has always known what his father's worst fear was.

He remembers the first time he walked in on one of his father's Boggarts. Remus doesn't think he was older than five, but the image is indelible in his mind—Hope Lupin lifeless on the ground, and the young wolf, bloody-mawed, standing over her.

(Boggarts don't react to Muggles, but Remus has never doubted that his mother's worst fear was the twin of his father's. You can't live with two frightened parents for eighteen years without instinctively knowing what keeps them up at night.)

Now Remus lounges on the sofa beside Sirius. Between the two of them, they are rapidly polishing off an entire bag of Brown Jazzies. Remus isn't sure which of them needs the chocolate more, but he feels guilty for not putting Sirius on a chocolate regimen earlier. Chocolate is generally indicated for acute cases of Dementor exposure, but Remus suspects that someone with Sirius's level of exposure should be on a maintenance dose for life. As Sirius filled their basket with treats for Harry— Jaffa Cakes, Hobnobs, cheeseburger-flavored corn snacks—Remus covertly added a dozen Cadbury bars for later use.

"Tomorrow, I want to go to Diagon Alley," Sirius says suddenly.

"Of course," Remus says, trying not to sound too surprised. He's pleased that Sirius is finding his initiative again, but he'd frankly expected a few more days of moping and acoustic guitar. "What are your plans?"

Sirius rubs his eyes. "Go to Gringotts, for one thing. But, ah, I think it's time for me to get a new wand."

Remus finds himself smiling. "I think that's a good idea. Do you want me to—"

"I'd like to do this alone, actually," Sirius says firmly.

"Of course." Remus thinks he'd feel the same way if he were replacing his own wand, especially after being parted from the first one the way Sirius has. "Er—you're not going to Apparate back, are you?"

"I'll Floo back," Sirius says, giving him a crooked smile. "You're quite right, Professor Lupin. I'd probably splinch myself after thirteen years without a wand."

"We'll get you back up to speed," Remus says, and pops another round chocolate into his mouth.

"Better be careful," Sirius says. "I'm not to be trusted. Might ensorcell you."

Remus is silent for a long time, struggling to find words to express his swirling thoughts. "I used to think—well, Dad was always trying to keep the peace, with Mam. And he never minded about my music, or my politics, what I read… But they weren't as different as I thought."

"Could have told you that, mate."

"He means it... he loves me, he doesn't care what I am. But there's this expectation—because of my ‘disability,' I've got to keep my head down. Not take any risks. Not stand out in any way." He looks at Sirius, who is watching his face. "That's why he's worried about you hanging around. Not because he really thinks you're guilty. Because you're notorious, and he doesn't want that rubbing off on me."

"Are you out to him?" Sirius asks, hesitantly.

"I am," Remus says. "We never talk about it. Er, there's this military policy they just passed in the States. ‘Don't ask, don't tell.' That's my dad and me, about a lot of things."

"My mother died, did you know?" Sirius says bitterly. "While I was in prison. I'm surprised they bothered telling me. Maybe they thought it would make me more depressed."

"I saw it in the _Prophet_." Remus pauses. "I thought about going to see her, after they sent you to Azkaban."

Sirius turns, his face a mask of horror. "What? Why would you do that?"

"I didn't go through with it! I realized it was a truly awful idea. But I was distraught, I wasn't thinking straight. I thought it might be my duty, as your former friend. She was your mother, after all..."

"My _mother_ was probably drinking sherry and blessing her good fortune. In one go, she'd got rid of me and sacrificed a second Black to the cause." Sirius scowls. "Unless she guessed that I was innocent. In which case, she was still blessing her good fortune."

"Parents are more complicated than we give them credit for," Remus says gently.

"Not my mother," Sirius says darkly. "She got switched with a gorgon at birth."


	7. Chapter 7

Sirius returns from Diagon Alley looking for a row. The weather in Pembrokeshire agrees with his mood—rain is coming down hard against the single-pane windows; as Sirius climbs out of the inglenook, a hard gust makes them rattle in their frames.

Remus is reclined on the sofa with a cup of tea, reading. Sirius realizes abruptly that there will be no joy in this row. Remus is going to be calm and rational, and Sirius will feel like the one who's made a mountain out of a gnomehole. Nevertheless, he is determined to have this one out.

He removes the sunglasses that Remus conjured for him as a disguise and steps into the room. Remus looks up and sets aside his newspaper, which is titled _The Wizard Voice_ and looks like it was printed in someone's shed. His eyebrows lift as Sirius sets the owl cage on the floor in front of him.

"If you won't accept her, I'll take her with me when I go," Sirius says flatly. "But I bought her for you."

" _Sirius_." Suddenly it's as if they're in school again. Sirius knows exactly what it means when Remus says his name that way—he's in trouble, but he's already been forgiven. Remus leans forward to admire the owl's patterned feathers, dark brown edged with buff. The owl, watching him with intelligent yellow eyes, gives a friendly squawk. "She's lovely. A short-eared, is she?" He looks up. "But this is too much—"

"No, it's not," Sirius says, setting down his shopping bags and dropping into the armchair. "You shouldn't have to go to Swansea every time you want to send a letter. I sent another to the boy, Ron. Weird little Scops—should entertain him. It's my fault he doesn't have a pet anymore."

"I wouldn't say it's exactly your fault," Remus says, his mouth flattening at the memory of whose fault it is. "I'll open a window for her in the kitchen and get her some water. We'll work out who keeps her later on."

Sirius rummages through one of the bags and wordlessly hands him a box of owl treats.

When Remus comes back, he's brought a cup of tea for Sirius. Sirius is still amazed that Remus remembers how he takes his tea after all these years. The thoughtful gesture makes him more annoyed than ever.

"Well?" Remus asks, resuming his seat. "Did you get your wand?"

"Yeah. Twelve inches, hawthorn, phoenix feather." Sirius remembers old Ollivander peering at him as he tried wands. Both the man and the shop are eerily unchanged from when Sirius got his first wand over twenty years ago.

"Phoenix feather, really? I'd have thought you'd end up with another dragon heartstring."

Sirius taps fingers against the McVitie's logo on his mug. "You'll never imagine who I ran into in Diagon Alley."

Remus gives him a puzzled smile. "Who?"

"McGonagall. She's stopping over in London on her way for a holiday in Italy. She insisted on having lunch with me at the Cauldron."

"I regret not saying a proper goodbye to her before we left Hogwarts," Remus says. "How did lunch go?"

"Fine. Only one person saw me and screamed. Old Tom pretended not to know who I was, and McGonagall talked to me like I was human." Sirius huffs a sigh. "Why didn't you tell me about the Wolfsbane Potion?"

Remus's expression freezes, as if he's a Muggle photograph. Finally he sets down his cup. "How did this come up?"

"Harry's friend, Hermione, said something I should have picked up on. She said you hadn't taken your potion. I didn't know what she was talking about until McGonagall told me." He looks Remus in the eye. "She said that _Snape_ was making you this potion. That you haven't got a way to get it now."

Remus's gaze drops to the tea in his cupped hands. "Things are going back to usual, that's all. Honestly, it didn't occur to me to—"

"Moony—it's a cure!"

Remus looks up. "No, it is not," he says slowly. "It makes the transformation much safer for others, and certainly more tolerable, but it's not..."

"Shove it," Sirius says. "I've got the ingredients and Damocles Belby's book. I'm going to make you this potion."

"Sirius." This time the meaning of his name has changed—he's in trouble, and Remus is losing his patience. "The Wolfsbane Potion is an incredibly complex—"

"I earned an O in N.E.W.T.-level Potions, didn't I?"

"An incredibly complex potion," Remus continues, "which, if brewed incorrectly, will likely kill me."

"At least we've got that out in the open," Sirius says. "You don't trust me."

"Oh, I believe you'll learn to make the potion." Remus's placid tone makes Sirius want to climb out of his own skin. "As you say, you're immensely talented. And it goes without saying how grateful I am that you want to try. But this isn't where you should be spending your energy now."

Sirius rises from his seat. "Tell me, where should I be spending it?"

"Healing," Remus says, his gaze soft.

"Oh, and that's been going really bloody well. Mooning around, listening to sad guitars. Letting you wait on me hand and foot—you think I don't know how pathetic I've been since you brought me home?"

"I don't think you're—"

"Do you know, I've just been to Gringotts. Seems I won't be needing a job anytime soon, even if I thought I could get one. My mother didn't bother leaving a will, so the family gold has been sitting intestate. The goblins tell me it's mine, now that I'm free. Peter's vanished, I can only take Harry eight weeks out of the year, and now you're telling me I can't do the one thing—the one thing—that will make your life objectively better."

Remus doesn't quite look at him. "At the risk of being terribly trite, you being in my life again is quite enough."

"Oh, fuck you," Sirius says, and storms out of the room, through the kitchen and out the back door. The short-eared owl, who is napping in her open cage, wakes with a squeal.

It's still raining, so he transforms into Padfoot. Big shaggy dogs don't mind the rain. They don't lose their tempers when their teenage sweethearts respond to grand gestures with sympathetic disinterest.

He clambers up to the back garden. Maybe he'll take a muddy nap beneath the hedge, if he can find a spot that isn't full of thorns. Or perhaps he'll go worry some sheep and make enemies of all Remus's neighbors.

"Sirius!"

Involuntarily, he turns. Remus is standing at the top of the steps to the garden, holding up his wand to repel the rain.

"Please come back inside," he says.

Padfoot barks. It's loud, but not nearly as threatening as he hoped.

"If you need to be alone, I'll stay out of your way." Remus hesitates. "I'm sorry. I should have told you about the potion. I knew it would bother you, so I didn't mention it. I suppose that was patronizing of me."

In answer, Padfoot lifts his leg and aims at a nearby rowan tree.

When he's done, Remus is still there. He is clearly trying very, very hard not to break down with laughter. His wand hand has dropped to his side, and the rain is soaking into his jumper.

"Pleased with yourself?" he asks conversationally. "Anything else you'd like to get off your chest?"

Padfoot considers half a dozen other rude things to do, but none of them will make this stupid man _leave him alone_.

But of course he doesn't really want to be alone. He never does, not anymore.

He transforms. "At least let Padfoot spend the moon with you," he says hoarsely.

Remus comes forward, lifting his wand so that the umbrella spell is shielding both of them. "I want you to, but—" Sirius sees him wince. "There isn't room, where I transform."

"There's not room in the barn?" Sirius asks, glancing at the tumbledown structure beside the house.

Remus shakes his head. "You're definitely not going to like this," he says, and takes Sirius's hand.

Remus leads Sirius down the stone steps. His hand, cool and damp, grips Sirius's a little more tightly than necessary. Sirius doesn't feel the same shiver of novelty as the last time Remus held his hand. Instead, the contact feels solid and familiar. It anchors him.

At the bottom of the steps is the wellhouse, a small structure with limewash walls and a metal grille in front of the entrance.

"The well's not very deep, so the groundwater seeps in and muddies it," Remus says. "I've charmed it dry and enchanted the water tank to fill on its own."

Sirius releases his hand and stares at him. "You are bloody kidding me."

"My nearest neighbor is less than a mile away. I love this cottage—I bought it with money Mam left me, it was nearly in ruins before I rebuilt it. But it's not the safest place for a werewolf. I had to be creative."

"How the hell do you get down there?" Sirius asks, staring into the dark interior of the wellhouse with a sick feeling.

"I've rigged the bottom of the well to drop and rise on command," Remus says, sounding almost proud. "Like an elevator. There's an alcove to store my wand and clothes while I'm transformed. It's soundproof as well, and I've put Cushioning Charms on the stone so that I don't break any bones."

Remus manages to make it sound almost domestic, but Sirius remembers the ferocity of the werewolf when it was confined to the Shrieking Shack. He imagines the wolf trapped at the bottom of a darkened pit, throwing itself bodily against the stone walls...

He feels his gorge rise. Just in the nick of time, he dashes away and kneels to empty the contents of his stomach into the grass.

His eyes are prickling with hot tears; he's retching, but there's nothing left to give up.

"Sirius," he hears Remus say, but the voice sounds as if he's a long way off, as if Dementors have drawn near.

Sirius closes his eyes, but instead of darkness, he sees stone prison of the well. Rain sputters against his skin, but his mind is trapped elsewhere, a dark place without sound or dimensions, without hope.

***

Sirius spends the rest of the day on the sofa. He lets Remus put a blanket over him and accepts frequent cups of peppermint tea, but the rest of the time he lies on his side, sometimes with his eyes closed, sometimes staring blankly at nothing. He's pale and a bit shivery, but when Remus presses the back of his hand to his forehead, he doesn't feel warm.

Around dinnertime, Remus manages to coax some tinned soup into him, the wizarding brand he buys at the grocery in Castell Lane ("Mrs. Mabb's Chicken Soup: It's Soupernaturally Delicious!") Afterward, he offers chocolate, but Sirius shakes his head. "Sick to my stomach."

Remus gives Sirius's shoulder a brisk rub, finding it more bone than muscle. "You never showed me your new wand."

There's a pause. "Bag," Sirius grunts at last.

Remus rustles through the nearest paper bag and finds a narrow wooden box. He carries it over to the sofa.

"Go on," Sirius says faintly.

"Your new wand? Not on your life." Remus sets it on the sofa, then sits on the floor, arms on his knees.

Sirius gives him a baleful look, but he unlatches the box.

It's nothing like Sirius's old wand. That wand was ebony, all straight lines and high polish. This new wand is the yellow-brown of a beech leaf, shading to amber near the handle. Its surface is slightly uneven, as if it's still part of the living tree.

It doesn't match Sirius's coloring, his coal-black hair and ashen skin. Its organic lines have nothing to do with his sharp angles and intense gaze. Yet when he sits up, propping himself against a pillow, and lifts the wand from the box, the honey color of the wand brings out the pink of his fingertips. Fawn and amber, ash and coal—maybe these colors go together better than Remus would have thought.

Sirius studies the wand as if it's someone else's childhood memento. His posture is loose, but his knuckles are tight.

"Well?" Remus coaxes.

Sirius rests his cheek against the pillow. "You've seen it. Now shove off."

"All right." Remus makes as if to rise. "I'll leave you two to get acquainted in private—"

"Oh sod off, Moony," Sirius says, laughing now. "Fine. You'll get your bloody demonstration."

His hand tightens around the wand. For a moment his face is entirely blank. Then he knits his eyebrows in concentration, lifts the wand, and flicks it.

With a sound like wind rustling in leaves, a white cloud erupts from the end of the wand.

"Fuck it, not again—"

A sharp, sickly-sweet fragrance fills the room. The white cloud swirls out, borne on an invisible breeze, then scatters slowly down to the ground.

It is a cloud of tiny white flowers. Remus catches a few in his palm; they look like miniature apple blossoms.

"These are hawthorn flowers!"

A dusting of flowers covers Sirius's outstretched legs; a few have landed on his shoulders, and one in his hair. "It's the wand," he growls. "It's got a mind of its own."

Remus brushes flowers from his sleeves and wills his mouth to stay straight. "What did Ollivander say about that?"

Sirius drops the wand back into its case and leans back with a groan. "He says it's not a problem. If a hawthorn wand doesn't like you, it will let you know, and not with flowers."

"He wouldn't sell you a wand that wasn't right—"

"Oh, it's definitely the right wand," Sirius say bitterly. He shoots a rueful glance down at the open box, as if he owes the hawthorn wand an apology. "What we've got in common is sheer bloody-mindedness."

Remus laughs—then wrinkles his nose. "That fragrance is really unpleasant in close quarters." He fishes his own wand out of his jeans pocket. "Mind if I—?"

He casts a quick _Evanesco_ , and the white dusting vanishes. Oddly, a single flower remains in Sirius's hair, as if proximity to the wand's owner has protected it from Remus's spell.

After that, Remus gets Sirius to eat a square of chocolate. He puts on a Velvet Underground album—a record rather than a cassette, Sirius looks up at the scrape of the needle—and makes a pot of peppermint tea.

Halfway through "I Found a Reason," Sirius looks like he's about to pass out. Remus nudges his shoulder. "Up you go then," he says. "You're taking the bed tonight."

"No, I'll—"

"No arguing," Remus says brightly. "You're the invalid."

Sirius rubs at his face and sits up slowly. "I'm not ill."

"Yes, I know." Remus rests a hand between his shoulder blades. "Come on then. Up."

Somehow he manages to coax Sirius up the stairs and into the bedroom. Sirius collapses onto the bed with a heavy finality. Remus pulls the duvet over him. "Need anything?"

"Stop fussing," Sirius mumbles into the pillow.

"Sleep well, Sirius," Remus says, a little more tenderly than he means to.

Before he heads downstairs, he stops at the top of the staircase and looks back. Beneath the patchwork quilt, Sirius is a long, angular form with a messy crown of black hair. The sight of him makes Remus's chest feel tight, as if it can't quite contain his heart. A week ago Sirius was a face he only dared imagine in dreams. And now he's in Remus's bed.

Remus has a notion that if he climbed into that bed right now and put his arms around Sirius, he wouldn't be rebuffed. That's exactly why he won't do it. Sirius is in no position to make decisions about what he does and doesn't want.

And truly, Remus doesn't know why he imagines there could be anything in the first place. The first time they ended things they were eighteen, practically children. It's old history, better off forgotten.


	8. Chapter 8

Remus spends the evening nursing a bottle of Ceridwen's Gingered Honeybeer and finishing _Midnight's Children_. He gets to bed late. As he creeps across the upstairs to the spare room, he notices that the black dog has replaced the human figure in the bed.

He sleeps late and wakes to find the bedroom empty. Downstairs, Sirius is sitting cross-legged in the inglenook, wearing one of Remus's shabbier robes over his Muggle clothes. Blue flames are dancing in the hearth, and Remus's cauldron is simmering with a soupy gray liquid.  


Remus sidesteps a half-drunk coffee and an abandoned plate of toast. He leans against the wall, folding his arms. "Dare I ask what you're doing?"

"What does it look like?" Sirius doesn't lift his gaze from the open book in his lap. "I'm having a go at this potion. Don't fuss," he says before Remus can protest, "I don't expect you to drink it. This is a trial. When I'm through, there are assays I can do to see if I've brewed correctly."

"Yes, I remember Severus did a skin test."

"He did what?" Sirius looks up with an appalled expression. "Yeah, that's one of the tests, but I'm not using it. If I make a botch of it, the book says it will badly scar you." He scowls and turns back to the fire. "Still a real piece of work, that one."

"I imagine he was just being thorough," Remus says, to which Sirius grunts.

Sirius spends the next three days brewing the Wolfsbane Potion. At first Remus watches, trying to take an interest in the process, but after a while the fumes from the simmering aconite make his skin tingle unpleasantly. He retreats to the kitchen, remaining on call to fetch potions equipment, as Sirius is otherwise liable to commandeer his cooking utensils.

He spends what feels like the rest of his waking hours wrangling owls. First there is the new owl to name. Remus, remembering the books of Welsh mythology his mother's father used to send him for Christmas, settles on Blodeuwedd. ("She's definitely your owl," Sirius says when he hears the name, "as I can't pronounce that.")

Blodeuwedd seems to enjoy her new home. Remus woos her with a daily offering of owl treats and receives a dead vole on the windowsill in return. Once they've befriended one another, he sends her off with two letters. 

The first is a carefully-worded message to Hanif's Floo-away Tandoori in Haverfordwest, notifying them that Remus is once again available to work as a part-time dishwasher. Remus has little hope for this letter. He's long suspected that Hanif knows what he is, but now that he's publicly out as a werewolf, Dolores Umbridge's act leave him functionally unemployable. To comply with the law, Hanif would have to certify to the Ministry that he's adhering to twenty pages of regulations governing werewolf employment. Besides, it's unlikely that Remus's old coworkers will be eager to be in the same room as him. (A separate work space is, in fact, one of the requirements for the Umbridge act—not exactly practical in food service.)

Remus has enough funds for the next few months, but come autumn, he'll have to get a Muggle job to supplement his supply teaching income. A casual Muggle job, one that will hire an unemployed 34-year-old man with a spotty work history and periodic three-day absences. 

His next letter is to Tony, a few artfully casual lines asking how his summer is going and alluding to his own personal setbacks. Remus would like to imagine that Rosie is right; Tony is a great friend and a lot of fun, but he's not always the most reliable. Maybe he just hasn't found the time to write.

Remus doesn't believe it. Tony has always been there for him when it counts. Tony is the friend who shows up on his doorstep with last-minute band tickets that Remus can't afford, or a bottle of wine and a sympathetic ear when October is drawing to a close and Remus's dark moods have returned. Even when Remus hasn't heard from him for months, an owl will bring a belated birthday present, as if Tony is a fond and absentminded uncle.

If Tony hasn't been in touch, maybe it's a silence that Remus has earned.  


There are two other people whom Remus would like to write to, but it's up to Chandra and Angie if they want to contact him. Their lives are entangled in ways none of them can escape, but right now, an owl from him would be breaking their trust.

These are the owls that Remus Lupin sends. Then there are the ones he receives—well, one owl to be exact, a ghost-faced barn owl named Sweet William, who belongs to Remus's father.

The first letter is brief and to the point.

_My dear Remus,_

_ I write to you in the hope that I find you well. I have not heard from you since the termination of your employment and the subsequent airing of your personal affairs in the  _ Daily Prophet  _ "newspaper" (I hesitate to call a disgrace to journalism by that name). _

_ I feel that things cannot go on as they have done. Where are you now? Are you still living in the "cottage"? I would feel much better if you would come and stay with me in Scotland. Future employment for you is of course impossible, and there are other dangers attending your situation that I will explain in further detail once you are here. _

_ All my love, _

_Your Dad_

Remus goes to the inglenook and reads the letter to Sirius.

"Tell him to sod off," Sirius says, pulverizing baneberries with a mortar and pestle.

Remus considers the advice and goes upstairs to answer the letter.

_Dad,_ he writes, _thanks for your concern, but I'm all right. I've got a houseguest at the moment, but you're welcome to come for a visit later in the year. Let me know what dates you have in mind, and I'll tell you whether I'm available._

_Love,_

_Remus_

Two days later, Sweet William is back with a rather longer letter. Remus reads the first paragraph and finds it runs along the same lines as his father's letter to Rosie. Before he knows what he's doing, he walks into the front room and drops the letter into the fire beneath Sirius's cauldron, where it turns to ash.

"Oy!" Sirius is stirring the contents of the cauldron in quick anticlockwise circles with his wand. The wand seems to be cooperating; Remus sees no evidence of flower petals, at least. 

"Sorry," Remus says. "Letter from Dad."

"Oh." Sirius glances up with a brief look of admiration. "Carry on, then."

The next morning, Remus is frying eggs and bacon when another owl taps at the window. He glances over, but it isn't Blodeuwedd, nor is it Sweet William. It's a tawny owl, small and red-brown, with sleek feathers and an upright carriage. When Remus opens the window, it sticks out its leg at a correct forty-five degree angle.

Remus unfastens the letter. He sees it's addressed to Sirius, though the writing is in an unfamiliar hand.

"Letter for you!" he calls.

There's a sound of equipment banging, and Sirius appears in the doorway. He's still wearing Remus's robes, now potion-splattered and slightly scorched. The damage hardly matters; Remus's skin is already tingling. He'll never be able to wear those robes again.

"Oh." Sirius sees the owl, and his shoulders visibly slump. Remus knows he was hoping for another message from Harry.

When he starts forward, Remus holds a hand out. "I told you, you're not allowed in my kitchen after you've been brewing that stuff."

"Read it to me, then."

Remus flips the bacon and eggs with a twist of his wand, then breaks the seal on the letter. "It's Harkiss and Greenshields."

"Yeah, what do they say?"

" _We would be pleased to assist you with your property search. An estate agent will be available to meet with you at 12 PM on Wednesday, June 19—_ oh."

"What?" Sirius exclaims.

"That's today. I, er, suppose it's a long journey from Hogsmeade to Pembrokeshire—"

"Merlin's balls—" Sirius rushes out of the room. Remus hears him doing something in the inglenook, then he jogs through the kitchen to the bathroom. The door slams shut, and the bath begins to run.

Remus goes to the door. "What about the potion?"

"Vanish it for me, will you?" Sirius calls over the sound of the bath.

"Don't you want to—?"

"Nah, I think it went wrong days ago. I'll start over."

Remus sighs, pulls his shirt over his face for protection, and goes to dispose of thirty Galleons worth of toxic ingredients.

Forty-five minutes later, Sirius is still in the bathroom. Remus gives up and eats a solitary breakfast (he's moved the table and chairs from the front room into the kitchen to escape the potion fumes). He's making a second cup of tea when the door finally opens.

Sirius streaks past, all pale skin and bony angles and flapping towel. "Half a mo," he calls.

Remus is so stunned by this apparition that it takes him several seconds to realize what was wrong with Sirius's appearance.

A few minutes later, Sirius comes back down. He's wearing a clean pair of jeans and the navy blue jumper that Remus bought him. And...

"Don't say anything," Sirius says gruffly, as Remus feels himself break into a helpless grin.

Sirius's hair is no longer short. A sleek black mass falls past his shoulders and down his back. Remus thinks it must be nearly long enough to sit on.

"Sirius, have you... charmed your hair?"

"It's this wand!" Sirius explodes, falling into the opposite chair. His hair falls around him, a cascade of black. "I just... thought I'd give it a few more inches..."

Remus retrieves Sirius's breakfast from the oven and sets it in front of him. "We'll cut it," he offers, trying to keep laughter out of his voice.

"I tried that already, didn't I? Bloody stuff grows back."

"That used to happen to James, remember?" Remus says, smiling at the memory. "When his dad gave him haircuts he didn't like—"

"I don't _like_ having hair down to my arse!" Sirius says with such vehemence that Remus really can't hold back his laughter.

Sirius hides his face in his hands. "What am I going to do? I look daft—"

Remus brings him a cup of instant coffee and sits down with his tea. "I don't know," he says. "I think I might fancy it."

Sirius glares at him over the screen of his hands.

"You could plait it," Remus says, taking great pleasure in watching Sirius's mouth twist behind his fingers. "Or, hmm, you could put it up in one of those top-knot things, like in a martial arts film—"

"I hate you."

"I'm not the one who charmed my hair with a temperamental new wand," Remus says pleasantly, and takes a sip of tea.

Sirius huffs out a breath and collapses back against the chair. The hair follows, as if borne on an invisible wind. Remus is beginning to think that maybe he does fancy it. It's certainly very entertaining to watch. Also, it looks soft.

"Sirius," he says, "you look fine. Besides, no one in Hogsmeade is going to be thinking about your hair."

"Because the rest of me looks shit."

"No, because they'll all be too afraid you're about to murder them," Remus says. "Now eat your breakfast."

The estate agent does not seem afraid that Sirius will murder her. A small woman with a graying bob and tailored plum-colored robes, she greets them in her office with a brisk smile, though Remus notices she doesn't accept Sirius's handshake.

Sirius is wearing sunglasses again, and he's settled on wearing his hair in a long ponytail. As for Remus, if he'd had his way he wouldn't have come at all, but Sirius has insisted. Thankfully, the estate agent doesn't seem to recognize the werewolf who's been headlining in the _Prophet_. When Sirius begins to introduce him, Remus interrupts with, "Just a friend," and his best pay-no-attention smile.

Remus has never worked with an estate agent before. (He discovered the cottage during one of the holidays his dad dragged him on in the years after James and Lily's deaths. Remus vaguely recalls a lot of castles and hiking, though his memory of that time is shaky at best.) He expects them to sit down in the office and look at listings, but instead the woman says, "Let's begin, shall we?"

They look at properties for about two hours. First they view a tiny flat above Zonko's Joke Shop that smells unmistakably of Dungbombs. Next is a narrow terraced house on one of the residential streets, with a kitchen that's more-or-less a crater from what must have been an especially violent cauldron accident.

The cottage they visit after that is rather pretty, but then Remus realizes the garden has one of the worst gnome infestations he has ever seen, and the foundation is collapsing as a result. Another cottage near the edge of the village is so derelict it could be mistaken for the Shrieking Shack. And finally—

"Merlin!" Sirius exclaims, as they retreat hurriedly from the last house.

"Indeed," Remus says. Accustomed since childhood to the company of things that are neither living nor dead, he is still somewhat shaken.

"We must keep in mind that the property has been abandoned for some time," the estate agent says. "I'd argue the present situation is still preferable to _live_ rats."

Remus, whose affection for rats is at an all-time low these days, nevertheless feels strongly that an infestation of live rats would be infinitely preferable to about a hundred ghost rats gliding silently across floors and through walls, while the mummified remains of their half-devoured corpses lie scattered throughout the rooms. (The house also has a strong odor of Kneazle urine, which resembles rotten garlic.)

After the ghost rats, they walk back to the office. Sirius has his hands in his pockets; Remus wishes he could see his expression behind the sunglasses. When they come to the door, the estate agent says brightly, "Well, I understand if you need some time to think it over—"

"What about these houses?"

Sirius is pointing at the house listings in the window of the office. Each has a photograph with an owl's-eye view of the property, moving across the exteriors and grounds. Remus notices several properties in Hogsmeade that weren't on their tour—well-appointed flats, pretty cottages with landscaped gardens.

"Under contract." The estate agent smiles, diamond earrings glinting in the sun. "June is a busy time for us."

"All of them are under contract?"

"Sirius," Remus says firmly, "let's go to the pub and talk over your options, shall we?"

"Send me an owl, of course, if you decide to move forward with any of the properties," the estate agent says. "It was so nice to meet both of you."

She slips through the door. Remus hears the door lock, and the Open sign flips to Closed.

Under his breath, Sirius utters a word that makes Remus wince. "Don't call her that, it's sexist."

" _Under contract_?" Sirius repeats.

"Come on," Remus says. "Let's have a drink."

***

Remus suggests the Hog's Head, and Sirius doesn't argue. In his present mood, he has no desire to go to the Three Broomsticks and be reminded of happy memories from their schooldays.

The Hog's Head is more-or-less identical to Sirius's memories—thirteen more years of accumulated dust and spilled beer hasn't made an appreciable difference. The few customers are too deep into their cups to take notice of their entrance.

Remus goes to the bar and orders a couple pints. As Sirius finds a seat by one of the grimy windows, old Aberforth catches his eye and surprises him with a wink.

Remus brings over the pints. Sirius has been keeping a rough mental tally of all the money Remus has spent on him during the past week. He plans to settle up when he moves out, but right now he doesn't have the energy for that particular row.

He slides his sunglasses to the top of his head and puts his hands around the glass. "I should have made her show us those places."

Remus doesn't look at him. Sirius remembers his caginess whenever Sirius mentioned the estate agent.  "Go on," he says. "Tell me I should have seen this coming."

Remus takes a long draft and sets down his glass. "I think you need to give this time," he says slowly. "Every day for the past year, people have seen your photograph in the _Prophet_. There were dementors walking the streets of Hogsmeade. Now they don't know what to think."

"Come off it. Do they think the Ministry let me walk free without proof?"

"People aren't rational when they're afraid."

Sirius takes a sip of his drink, the first alcohol he's had in years. He can't decide if it tastes especially like centaur's piss, or if beer has always tasted like that and he's forgotten. 

He thinks about what Remus hasn't said—that _he_ was afraid of Sirius. They haven't talked about that yet, and Sirius isn't sure he ever wants to talk about it. He doesn't care to contemplate thirteen years of Remus hating him. 

"Well!" a voice says. "I must say, it's heartwarming to see you two out in public."

Sirius lifts his gaze. A woman with tight blond curls and rhinestone-studded spectacles is smiling down at them with an oddly proprietorial air.

"And who are you?" Sirius says.

The woman holds out a hand; her long fingers are tipped with crimson. "Rita Skeeter, _Daily Prophet_."

Before Sirius can decide whether to take the hand, Remus speaks. "We're not giving an interview," he says, looking at Rita Skeeter with uncharacteristic dislike.

Without asking, Rita Skeeter pulls back a chair and sits. "Oh, I know the press hasn't been kind to you, Lupin, but I'm disappointed to hear you take that line. What I'm offering is a chance to set the record straight. The only werewolf to be educated at Hogwarts—to work there as a professor. Don't you think the public deserves to hear your story?"

"How did you know we were here?" Sirius asks slowly, looking between the two of them. "Did that estate agent woman—?"

Rita Skeeter turns to him, red lips curved in a grin. "I understand you're relocating to Hogsmeade, Mr. Black," she says, drawing an acid-green quill out of her handbag. "With Albus Dumbledore's blessing, I presume. What would you say to the public who endured the reign of terror following your unprecedented escape from Azkaban?"

"That's enough."

Aberforth has come to stand behind Rita Skeeter. "Only paying customers," he says gruffly.

"An elderflower gin," Rita Skeeter says, not looking up.

"I don't think so. Out."

Rita Skeeter lifts her gaze then, rhinestones glittering. "Aberforth Dumbledore. Don't think I couldn't resurrect your name in the headlines."

"I don't read your bloody paper," Aberforth says. "Now get the hell out of my pub."

The woman scowls. She rises, reaches into her purse, and flicks a business card onto the table.

"Floo me if you want to talk," she says. "I think you'll find it much preferable to the alternative."

"That woman, Rita Skeeter, you've met her before?" Sirius says when they're back at the cottage. They're sitting on the sofa and sharing the last of the Brown Jazzies, which Remus got out as soon as they came home.

"Not in person." Remus stands and goes over to the bookcase. He flips through a stack of parchment and retrieves a newspaper clipping, which he hands to Sirius.

The article shows Rosie. She's smiling broadly at the viewer, but she looks exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes. The photo is clearly a mugshot. 

_ December 1, 1989 _

_MUGGLE RIGHTS MILITANT ARRESTED_

_ by RITA SKEETER _

_ Rosie Pryce, 26, was arrested Thursday evening in London on charges of trespassing and vandalism. At 11 PM, security at the Ministry of Magic discovered Pryce had forced entrance to the Muggle Liaison Office. Pryce is alleged to have filled the office with Muggle public health leaflets and more than five hundred charmed balloons made from items Pryce appeared to have purchased at a chemist's (a Muggle apothecary). Witnesses described the balloons and the contents of the leaflets as "obscene" and "extremely disturbing." _

_ Pryce is a member of a radical political organization called Act Up Diagon. The group, whose membership is homosexual, seeks to restore Ministry funding for public health initiatives that benefit the Muggle population. A "Muggle Wellness" scheme was last funded during the government of Eugenia Jenkins, whose bungled social programs coincided with the rise of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.  _

_ Born in Jamaica, Pryce immigrated to Britain in 1982 under the Wizarding Immigrants Act, a law that provides British visas to magical foreign nationals otherwise ineligible for immigration. Pryce, who does not have formal magical education, describes herself as "self-employed." Last night marks her fourteenth arrest. _

_ If convicted, Pryce will be fined 100 Galleons and banned from Ministry of Magic property. When asked about additional penalties, such as imprisonment or deportation, a representative of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement said, "As a matter of policy, we rarely recommend incarceration for nonviolent offenses. And well, really, I know she broke the law, but at least someone's paying attention to what goes on in government." _

Sirius, who's only incrementally more likely to go for girls than Remus, wonders if this is what love feels like. "Merlin," he says. "Maybe Rosie _is_ too good for you."

"Thanks very much," Remus says with a thin smile, snatching away the article and returning it to the bookcase. "So that's Rita Skeeter. She's not the only reason the _Prophet_ reads like a tabloid these days, but I'd say she's the worst of the lot. Last year she became a correspondent, which means she can insert whatever personal commentary strikes her fancy."

"What do you think she'll write about us?"

Remus sits again. "Frankly, I couldn't care less."

Sirius does not believe that for a second. He waits a moment before asking his next question. "Are you angry that I made you come to Hogsmeade with me?"

"No." Remus gives him a strange look. "You didn't know this would happen."

"But you knew," Sirius says.

Every time Remus goes out in the magical community now, he'll face fear, prejudice, maybe even violence. Being a werewolf has always affected every aspect of his life, but before he was able to hide.

His life is utterly changed, and Sirius can't shake the feeling that it's his fault.

"What about you?" Remus asks. "I don't think either of us are going to get a favorable write-up from Rita Skeeter."

"What's she going to say about me?" Sirius asks, more casual than he feels. "'We thought he was a murderer. He wants to buy a house, and he goes for drinks with a werewolf. Oh, and his hair looks stupid.'"

Remus smiles. "I don't recommend a career in journalism."

Sirius sticks out his tongue and throws a Brown Jazzie at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More about [the AIDS leaflet](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/AIDS:_Don%27t_Die_of_Ignorance) that Rosie left at the Muggle Liaison Office. Rosie's protest in support of magical interventions in Muggle public health is a nod to the real-life activism of [Act Up](http://www.curzonblog.com/all-posts/2018/4/11/the-history-of-aids-activism).
> 
> The Wizarding Immigrants Act circumvents the anti-immigration [Commonwealth Immigrants Act](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Commonwealth_Immigrants_Act_1962). Though as Rita Skeeter demonstrates, anti-immigrant sentiment flourishes among white British wizards and Muggles alike.


	9. Chapter 9

The idea comes to Remus the next morning as he's drinking his second cup of tea. He's still recovering from a night of restless sleep, one interrupted by thoughts of the _Daily Prophet_ his father would receive the next morning. If it's a slow news day, there's a fair chance his and Sirius’s visit to Hogsmeade will be on the front page.

Remus goes to stand in the doorway of the sitting room. Sirius is lying on the sofa, hair pulled back in a messy bun from which long strands already escaping. Remus's copy of _Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ is face-down on the floor next to a half-drunk cup of coffee, and the B-52s are playing quietly on the Spellophonic.

Sirius, meanwhile, is practicing his spellwork. It's not going well; hawthorn flowers are scattered everywhere. Remus is pretty sure that this is still depression, just in another guise. There's a restlessness to grief, and sometimes it manifests in odd ways.

Remus sits on the end of the sofa, turning off the music with a flick of his wand. Sirius doesn't look up.

" _Avis_ ," he intones, but more flowers shoot from the end of his wand.

Remus vanishes the lot before they can make their way to the ground. "You'll get there. Would you like to hear my brilliant idea?"

"I wonder if my wandwork is the reason the potion went wrong," Sirius says. "Why flowers? Why not leaves, or—?"

"I think you should get a Muggle estate agent."

Sirius lowers his wand hand. "Can I do that?"

"Why not? This cottage didn't belong to wizards before I bought it. I pay rates to the county, not the Ministry."

Sirius seems to consider. "Yeah, but... the Muggles know about me, you said. They think I'm some nutter with a gun."

"That's true." Remus very much doubts that the Ministry has issued corrections to the Muggle media. "But I doubt anyone will recognize you. If I were an estate agent, the last thing I'd be on the lookout for is a mass murderer showing up at my office. I suppose the difficulty is your name. You'll want the correct name on the deeds." He hesitates. "I think this is a rare case when it would be ethical to use a Confundus Charm. As you can't easily explain the circumstances of your name being cleared..."

Sirius sits up. "I could buy something around Hogwarts. Or I could let a holiday place... though honestly, I don't fancy having Muggles about. I'd prefer a bit of space, somewhere Harry can fly his broom in peace."

"You're decided on Scotland, then?"

"Yeah, I want to be on hand if Harry needs me. Don't forget that Peter's still out there."

"I haven't forgotten," Remus says, more sharply than he means to. He's not thrilled with the idea of Sirius living alone in rural Scotland, but of course it's not his decision.

Oblivious, Sirius smiles at him. "Good thinking, Moony. All things considered, I quite fancy not paying my taxes to the Ministry."

The one difficulty about Sirius getting a Scottish estate agent is that they will have to drive to Scotland. Muggles can be a credulous lot, but Remus does not believe anyone will buy the two of them house-hunting in the Highlands with no car.

Sirius is tasked with planning their route in the road atlas while Remus packs.

"How many miles is the drive?" Remus calls down the stairs.

"Five hundred and sixty!" Sirius shouts, sounding happy about the number.

And maybe a holiday is exactly what Sirius needs right now, after thirteen years of confinement and a year on the run. Remus suspects a road trip will do both of them some good.

He goes to the kitchen and says goodbye to Blodeuwedd, who is sleeping in her open cage. ("I expect I'll be back in a week," he tells her, filling a large bowl with water and opening the window. She looks annoyed, but relents when he offers her some Owl Treats.)

Then he goes back upstairs, pulls on his rather threadbare overcoat, and brings down the suitcase.

"I found this," he says, and hands Sirius the jacket he unearthed from the bottom of his wardrobe.

Sirius looks up from the road atlas, and his expression stills.

He takes the jacket from Remus, studying it as if it's something out of a museum case. It's a sherpa-lined denim jacket, with the red LEVI'S tag still bright against the wool.

"This is mine," he says slowly.

"Yes." Remus crosses his arms. Suddenly he feels sick with anxiety, for no reason he cares to name.

Sirius looks up. "You kept it."

"You left it at my place..."

"I remember," Sirius says, and of course they both remember, because they came very close to sleeping together that night, and Remus thinks now that if he'd let it happen, everything might have been different. Sirius might have trusted him again.

"I told myself I was waiting for the right moment to ceremonially burn it," Remus says. "It would seem I was saving it for another reason, and I didn't know it."

Sirius sets aside the road atlas and pulls on the denim jacket. Many men of thirty-four, Remus reflects, would not fit into clothing they wore when they were twenty, but if anything the jacket is slightly too large for Sirius's emaciated frame. Still, it looks good. More than good—Sirius looks like _himself_ , with his dark hair falling over the wool-lined collar.

He smiles up at Remus. "Reckon I can help you drive?"

"Nice try," Remus says, sitting beside him and picking up the atlas.

" _Moony..._ "

Remus doesn't look up. He knows the sight of Sirius in his old jacket, saying his name in that tone, will utterly undo him. "We can practice on the way, if you like. In a car park."

"I can drive. Remember the motorbike?"

"Not the same."

"Lily's car, I drove it a few times—"

"You flattened every hedge in Gloucestershire, as I remember." Remus shows Sirius the map. "Stop in the Lake District for the night?"

"Don't push yourself," Sirius says uncertainly.

"It's only five hours to Kendal," Remus says. "I'll be fine."

Remus is not fine.

Everything goes wrong outside Aberystywyth. Remus makes a wrong turning; by the time he realizes his mistake, he's in a very green, very remote section of the Welsh countryside, driving along a single-lane road that does not seem to have a name.

Sirius checks the map, but the only north-south road is five miles behind them. So Remus drives on past sheep and ponies, turns down a valley road that looks like it's going to bottom out in a ditch, and somehow finds his way to the A44.

After that things are all right for a while. Sirius works out a new route, and they drive east through the rugged landscape, making appreciative noises at the beauty of their surroundings. They stop in a village cafe for lunch, but due to a miscommunication (or possibly Sirius having forgotten the difference between east and west), leave town on the wrong road and find themselves traveling deeper into the hills.

Again, the only way out is through. Sheep mill about. Mountains loom. Clouds gather and begin to sputter rain. Remus charms the windscreen impervious (he hasn't bothered with wipers in years) and tries not to collide with any livestock.

Finally they turn east again and the hills flatten out a bit, though they don't become any more populous. Nearly an hour passes. It's 3:30 and raining hard by the time they pass the tiny "Welcome to Shropshire" sign.

"We don't have to drive all the way to Kendal tonight," Sirius says.

"We're not driving to Kendal," Remus says wearily.

Sirius looks out the window. "I think Wales was trying to eat us." He glances down at the map. "Actually, the fastest route takes us back into Wales, up to Wrexham—"

" _No._ "

Despite their best efforts, they do, in fact, drive briefly through Wales again. They cross the border a second time and, at half past four, come to the Shropshire market town of Hollyheath.

With a few adjustments, Hollyheath could serve as a set for one of the BBC costume dramas Remus's mother used to watch. There are narrow one-way streets and half-timbered buildings and a rather ugly Georgian church of red stone. Sirius spots an old coaching inn, one which Mr. Darcy might stay in whilst tracking down Miss Lydia Bennett, and immediately insists they get a room.

"It might just be a pub," Remus says, slowing in front of the white building.

"It says hotel! Turn in, there must be parking in the back."

Remus follows directions, but he's been driving for nearly six hours, it's still raining, and his nerves are jangling. "We've got to be careful with our money..."

"I withdrew some Muggle money at Gringotts," Sirius says, which is the first Remus has heard of it.

He shifts to park and turns off the engine. He wishes he could turn off his brain as well. "A place like this," he says in a rush, "well, it's going to be small, for couples mostly... if we share a room, we might not be able to get separate beds."

He braces for Sirius's reaction—embarrassment, or possibly offense.

Instead Sirius smiles slightly, and leans over to bump Remus's shoulder with his own.

"Well, that's no problem," he says. "Unless you mind sharing a bed with a dog."

***

The last time Sirius was in the same bed as Remus was thirteen years and four months ago. (Not that he's been counting.)

Sirius was tipsy that night. Well, actually he was drunk, probably. It wasn't his fault. Gideon and Fabian Prewett had got the news their sister was expecting a baby—her seventh, Merlin help her—and they'd insisted on going out for a drink. Sirius hadn't been in a pub for over a year; most of his drinking took place during visits to Godric's Hollow, where Lily was keeping half a dozen French wineries in business as a means of coping with extended isolation.

He and the Prewetts had found a Muggle pub in the London suburbs, nowhere Death Eaters were likely to look for them, and Sirius had stood them a few rounds. They'd talked about babies, and how none of them were likely to ever produce one. Fabian and Gideon had reminisced about their nephews, whom they'd hardly seen for three years because of the war.

Then "Imagine" started playing on the speakers. The song had been playing ceaselessly in public places since John Lennon's death three months before. Already in a maudlin frame of mind, Sirius's attention fixed on the lyrics.

He imagined. He imagined all the people, living life in peace. Sitting with his mates in a pub whose name he couldn't remember, he was seized by a powerful premonition of loss.

Sirius wasn't afraid of death, not after three years of staring it in the face. But if Gideon and Fabian died, they would die together. The way things were going, Sirius was going to die alone, like Benjy Fenwick, like his brother.

"Fuck," Gideon said, shaking his head. Gideon swore like a sailor to compensate for his amiable, round-cheeked face. "John fucking Lennon. It ain't fucking right."

"Keep forgetting," Fabian said, nodding. "Then it hits me, like, right here—"

He tapped his heart. Then he noticed Sirius. "All right, mate?"

"Mmm," Sirius said, wiping his eyes.

He made his exit soon afterward, and flew to Bristol.

He parked the motorbike on the street outside Remus's building, unlocked the front door with a tap of his wand, and went upstairs. The building smelled faintly of curry. Sirius tried to remember when he'd last eaten.

Remus opened the door to his knock. "Sirius," he said, running hands over a bleary face. "Er, come in."

As Sirius entered, Remus tapped a stack of parchment, and it went blank. Whatever Remus was doing for the Order these days, it involved a lot of paperwork.

"What are you up to, then?" he asked.

Remus gave him an annoyed look and lowered himself onto the sofa. They weren't supposed to discuss their assignments with one another. Dumbledore had put the rule in place the previous year, ever since they'd begun to suspect the presence of a spy in the Order.

Sirius sat beside him, the mauve sofa giving up exhalations of dust. The furnishings came with the flat, which was why they looked as if they belonged to a pensioner. "Wow, Moony," James had said when he first saw the place. "When I said I'd pay your rent, I didn't mean a care home."

"Can I get you something?" Remus asked.

"This is like having tea with my great-aunt Cassiopeia," Sirius said, swinging his legs onto the sofa. "Next you'll ask me why my marks are down."

"I'm sorry, I've been working all evening. I didn't expect a visitor. Next time if you could Floo first—"

"You know, James asked if I'd seen you lately," Sirius says. "He wondered when you would visit."

They weren't the words he had meant to say. _Imagine all the people, living for today..._

Impatience flickered over Remus's face. "Dumbledore wants us to limit our visits. I was there last month—"

"Two months ago. It was just after the New Year. I was there, remember..."

"Why are you trying to start a row?" Remus's frown deepened. "Are you drunk?"

Sirius folded his arms, not sure of the answer to either of Remus's questions. "I had a few pints with the Prewetts in London—"

"You were in a _pub_?"

"Yeah, I was. Maybe it would do you good to get out now and again, Moony. Instead of hiding in here with your stacks of parchment—"

"I haven't been hiding," Remus said evenly. "I've been in Derbyshire."

"Derbyshire," Sirius repeated with an air of incredulity, and possibly he was drunk, because there was nothing particularly comical about Derbyshire.

"Sirius—" Remus hesitated. "I know it's tempting to take risks, but we've got to be careful."

"What risks? Going to a pub? Or visiting our friends?"

"That's not—"

"I've spent the last week shadowing Death Eaters with the Prewetts," Sirius says rapidly. "It's not _Derbyshire_ , mind you, but I know. I know what could happen to us. So yeah, I had a drink. I went to Godric's Hollow. Lily has a glass of wine in her hand every time I see her, have you noticed that? James won't let go of Harry, I wonder if he'll ever learn to walk, the way his dad carries him everywhere. And Peter, he's scared all the time, you can see it in his eyes. He's so fucking brave, but he never expected to do this alone. None of us did. So we break the rules. I suppose if we snuff it, that makes it our fault, yeah?"

Remus's gaze was on the floor, looking like it could bore holes through the fabric of the universe.

Sirius hesitated. Then he shifted forward and rested a hand lightly on Remus's shoulder. "I'm sorry I didn't Floo ahead."

Remus made a strange sound, somewhere between a laugh and a moan. He shook his head. "I'm so stupid..."

"I'm the one who's stupid," Sirius said, and to prove it, he put his arms around Remus.

Usually when they hugged, Remus went a bit tense and let go after a few seconds. " _Sirius_ ," he would sometimes say, pleased but embarrassed, as if they were a married couple and Sirius had just kissed him in front of the neighbors.

Now, though, he sank into Sirius's arms.

"You're not the only one who hates this," he said, arms cinching around Sirius's waist in a way that made Sirius feel distinctly giddy. "I hate it too."

"You don't act like it."

Remus exhaled a ghost of a laugh. "That's because I'm better at this than you are."

"I don't want you to be good at it! Being alone isn't a talent."

"It is if you're me."

Sirius pulled away to look at him. Remus was pale, with dark circles below his eyes—the full moon was four days away. One corner of his mouth crooked into a smile, but the humor didn't reach his eyes.

"What?" he said. "I'm only saying what's true."

"It's not true. It's _not_ ," Sirius said, when Remus opened his mouth to speak. "You've always got me, Remus."

And because Sirius really was a bloody fool, he put both hands on Remus's shoulders and kissed him.

Remus made a noise, but it wasn't displeasure or even surprise. It was, _Oh, yes, please_. His arms tightened around Sirius's waist, and his mouth followed Sirius's like a moth to wandlight.

Somehow they toppled backward. (Actually, there was no _somehow—_ Remus's fingers were pulling at the fabric of his jacket, pulling him close.) Sirius was propped up on elbows, Remus stretched beneath him, craning his neck to catch each kiss.

An observation surfaced in the portion of Sirius's mind still capable of coherent thought: for two people who hadn't been a couple since leaving school, they certainly seemed to snog a lot these days.

It had started at James and Lily's wedding, when they'd drunk too much champagne and Sirius had given Remus a blowjob in the Potters' broom cupboard. (Now that James and Lily lived at Godric's Hollow, Sirius found he had to leave the room quickly whenever anyone used that cupboard.)

Since then they'd mostly kept their trousers on, and Remus still behaved as if Sirius's touch was something mildly shocking. Nevertheless there had been New Year's kisses, and bouts of hand-holding, and the memorable afternoon they'd gone to see a matinee of _Moonraker_ in an empty theater and spent the whole time with their tongues down each other's throats. If Sirius was a better person, he would insist on parameters to this relationship. They would talk it out like adults. But the truth was that Sirius was pants at being an adult, and he didn't want to talk about any of this. He just wanted Moony to kiss him.

He pulled away. "Bed?"

Remus's jaw tightened. Possibly Sirius was asking too much—if they physically went to the bedroom, that would mean acknowledging what they intended to do there.

But then Remus nodded, and slid out from under him.

Sirius followed him into the bedroom. Remus's bedroom wasn't as tragic as the rest of the flat, but it was very small, with a single bed beside the narrow window. When Sirius entered, Remus was sitting on the bed. Sirius sat beside him and, deciding to press his luck, put his arms around him, pressing a kiss to his neck.

"Sorry," he murmured. "But that sofa you've got—I think someone's maiden aunt bought it on that thing."

Remus laughed, and turned to hook his fingers around the collar of Sirius's jacket. Sirius shrugged out of it, and Remus tossed it to the floor.

Then it was Remus pressing him against the mattress, fingers closing on his wrists, knees tight against his hips. Sirius could lie here forever. Actually, his heart was pounding so rapidly and his knees were so weak that he doubted he could get up if he wanted to. He wished he could tell this to Remus— _You've got me._ _I'm yours, completely._

Remus sank against him, the weight of his hips a promise of something that made Sirius dizzy to contemplate—and then, abruptly, he stilled. A moment later, he'd rolled away onto his back.

Sirius immediately turned to face him. Remus was staring at the ceiling. The skin at the corners of his eyes was tight, as if with pain.

"Hey," Sirius murmured, and brushed his cheek with his fingertips.

Remus shook his head. "This isn't me," he said roughly. "It's the wolf."

Sirius drew his hand away. "What are you on about? The moon... the full moon isn't for four days."

Remus sat up. "I think it's got worse. I'm not... I don't think straight."

Sirius felt something harden in his throat. "So what?" he said harshly. "It's not like you've lost it, and started... snogging James, or something. It's me. It's fine."

"And if I regret it afterward?" Remus said the words distinctly, as if each syllable were a knife.

Sirius rose from the bed. It took a few moments for breath to return to his lungs. "If that's what you think, then I'll leave you alone. But don't blame what you feel on the wolf."

Remus winced. "Pads..." he said hoarsely.

But Sirius was already striding away. He wrenched the front door open and Disapparated from the landing.

The next day, he returned for his motorcycle. But he never came back for the jacket.


	10. Chapter 10

As Remus predicted, the rooms in the hotel are essentially honeymoon suites, with posh names—Stokesay, Ludlow, Ellesmere—and king-sized beds. The middle-aged woman behind the counter, who has gold knot earrings and an equestrian-print Hermès scarf, definitely thinks they're a couple, but she also definitely thinks that Sirius is a celebrity of some kind, possibly a washed-up hard rocker. (Or is it the punk rockers who are washed up these days? The hard rockers have probably all come through and are married with children.)

Sirius is relieved when she smiles and hands Remus the key, but he's also unsettled. He's grown so accustomed to the idea that everyone hates him for being an infamous murderer that he forgot he might be hated for the mundane fact of being himself.

On the upside, sharing a bed with Remus as a dog is _fun_. After dinner at the Italian restaurant down the street, they go up to the room. It's cozy and Old England, with exposed beams and floral-print everything.

Sirius transforms as soon as the door is closed. He takes great pleasure in leaping onto the mattress, which gives a satisfying bounce. He splays out his limbs, taking up most of the bed.

When Remus finally gets into bed—he's spent about a million years cleaning his teeth, and is now wearing a pair of plaid pajamas that Padfoot could care less about but Sirius wishes he could photograph—he nudges the dog with his foot. "Shove over."

Padfoot moves, but as soon as Remus has situated himself, he drops his head onto Remus's shins.

"Pads! Do you want me to make you sleep on the floor?"

The floor might actually be more comfortable—it's an unpleasantly soft mattress. Still, he huffs assent and shifts away.

Remus surprises him by reaching to scratch behind his ears. "G'night."

Padfoot licks Remus's fingers in response.

"Ugh!" The fingers pull away. "Foul."

The dog barks a happy assent.

  


In the morning, thin light trickles through the gauze curtains. He wakes in the bed alone, the shower running. Sirius transforms and sits up. Immediately he's met by his reflection in the mirror opposite; the man staring back looks less rocker, more aging fine arts photographer who's recently quit drugs and found Krishna. He picks up his wand and casts a hair-combing charm. It does the trick, and only a few flower petals lodge themselves in his hair.

"Wand still misbehaving?" Remus asks when he comes out a few minutes later, wearing his dressing gown. Sirius's heart does a very stupid lurch when he realizes Remus isn't wearing anything under it.

He stops trying to conjure birds and watches as Remus opens the suitcase and pulls out clothes. Remus's damp hair falls into his eyes; he lifts a hand to push it away. _Someone_ , Sirius thinks drowsily, _should tell that man how handsome he is._ None of Remus's features are particularly remarkable—a longish, slightly upturned nose, an ordinary mouth and rather muddy hazel eyes. Good bone structure, Sirius decides, that's what pulls it all together.

Remus shakes out a collared shirt. "Happy Solstice, by the way," he says. "Did you sleep all right?"

"Sure." Sirius lifts his arms for a full-body stretch. "Nice place."

"Do you remember having a bad dream? I almost woke you."

"Maybe. Don't worry about it."

Remus looks at him for a moment longer, then goes to dress in the bathroom.

Sirius doesn't change; he can't see the point of putting on new clothes when yesterday's are still perfectly good. They go downstairs. Breakfast is a full English with the first proper drip coffee Sirius has had in thirteen years. When they're back in Wales, he ought to buy Remus a coffeemaker.

It's eight o'clock when they leave the hotel. According to the atlas they have four hundred miles to go; Remus is determined to do it in one day.

"Are you sure you don't want me to help drive?"

"No need," Remus says brightly.

Contrary to Sirius's expectations, the day really does go as smoothly as Remus promises. The weather has cleared for the moment, and the journey through northern England is as straightforward as it looks on the map. When they stop outside Glasgow for lunch, Sirius feels twitchy, as if Lyall Lupin might sense their proximity and stride into the pub. However, they get through their sandwiches without incident.

As they drive north into the Highlands and the landscape becomes more rugged, Sirius remembers train journeys on the Hogwarts Express. He feels a flutter of an emotion so unfamiliar, it takes him a moment to realize it's joy. He's going to buy a house in Scotland, and Harry will visit him for holidays, and Sirius will go to every one of his Quidditch games.

It hits him, then, as the River Tay appears as a steel ribbon to their left and it begins to gently rain, that he'll be leaving Remus behind. Pembrokeshire to the Highlands is too far to Apparate. Of course there's always an uncomfortable journey by Floo, but they'll still be on opposite ends of Britain.

"You'll come up and visit, won't you?" he asks.

"Of course," Remus says, giving him a puzzled, sideways smile. "And once we get you settled, you're always welcome at the cottage, you know."

"Yeah," Sirius says.

***

Absurdly for someone who is half-Scottish and spent his school years in the Highlands, Remus has never been to Inverness. The city is what he would expect—Victorian buildings of dark stone, a stone castle (also Victorian) overlooking the river, numerous tourist shops selling kilts and plush Loch Ness monsters. They spend the night in a hotel within walking distance of the castle.

The next morning, Sirius chooses the estate agent on the high street with the most impressive building—it has red arches that remind Remus of a Tube stop. The estate agent, who's called Susan Mackenzie, is a middle-aged woman with a flyaway blond perm and a round, friendly face. Like everyone else they've met on this trip, she treats Sirius, with his denim jacket, long ponytail, and sunglasses (an improbable touch in the overcast weather) as if he's a celebrity she hasn't quite placed. Remus seems to fall into a nebulous place between personal secretary and live-in companion; occasionally she gives him a conspiratorial smile, as if to say that she too knows the burden of having a difficult man in one's life.

"You drove all the way from Wales!" she exclaims. "Well now, most folk take the train. Though I'm sure it was a lovely journey. I'd love to travel that way, if I ever found the time."

Sirius glances over at Remus and lifts an amused eyebrow. Remus arranges his fingers in a certain gesture in response.

Thankfully, Susan Mackenzie does not seem to notice. "Well now, you've chosen a good time to buy, prices being what they are." Sirius nods, as if he knows all about the current state of the British property market. "What were you thinking to spend?"

Sirius, who during yesterday's drive asked some questions about the current exchange rate from Galleons to pounds sterling, names a number that Remus pretends not to have heard. Susan Mackenzie seems unfazed. In her mind, anyone as unusual-looking as Sirius is no doubt either penniless or a millionaire.

"I want space," Sirius tells her, sounding definite in a way that he hasn't for weeks. "Rural, no close neighbors. And I fancy something older. Something with style."

Susan Mackenzie asks a few more questions, then arranges to meet them that afternoon to look over listings. "And tomorrow we'll view properties," she says brightly.

When Remus impulsively suggested a drive to the Highlands to buy Sirius a house, he failed to foresee how drawn out the process would be. He tells himself to relax and treat it like a holiday. A holiday that he's relying on his friend to pay for, since he is likely to be functionally unemployed for the foreseeable future.

As they're at loose ends for the rest of the morning, they stop by the tourism office. Neither of them fancies seeing the castle, so they decide to walk along the river to Ness Islands, wooded islands connected to the riverbank by pedestrian bridges. The water is a steely blue-gray, reflecting the overcast sky. Locals walk their dogs, while cyclists weave beneath the trees.

When they come to the tip of the southernmost island, Sirius lowers himself to sit on the edge of the stone embankment. Remus sits beside him. They look out at the swiftly moving river.

Sirius glances over. "All right? You've been quiet."

Sirius has spent the past two weeks largely oblivious to Remus's moods, good or ill, but Remus doesn't say this. "I'm fine," he says. "I'm just thinking about..." He trails off, because he doesn't really want to finish this sentence.

"We'll see each other," Sirius says brightly. "It's too far to Apparate, but there's Floo."

Remus is caught off guard. "Oh. No, I wasn't... I was just thinking about the autumn."

Sirius frowns, and Remus can see his mind working in a way he doesn't care for.

"Moony..." he begins softly, and Remus feels himself tense.

"Let's not—"

"But you know, don't you? You know you don't need to worry about money."

"No, I don't know that," Remus says, in a tone that he hopes will read as _Please stop talking immediately_.

"It's my fault Snape ruined your career..."

"My career." Remus's voice is bitter in his own ears. "I'm not sure that's what I'd call it."

"The point is, I have money. I have quite a lot of money. And it's yours, as far as I'm concerned."

"Sirius, leave it, please."

Sirius stares at him for a long moment. "Why are you being such an arse about this? You let James pay for your flat—"

"That was thirteen years ago, and it was the war. This is my life now. I can't go on letting other people pay my way."

Sirius looks away. "Merlin, you sound like your mum."

Remus feels as if a tidal wave has bowled him over with the words. When he speaks, it's in a croak. "This has _nothing_ to do with my—"

"Then why do you sound like a bloody Tory? Do you think I earned the money I've got? If my mother had known I'd inherit it, she would have thrown it to the bottom of the sea. You've got about as much right to it as I do—"

Remus pushes himself to standing and turns away. "I am done talking about this."

"Well, _I'm_ not done! I won't have you—!"

Remus Disapparates.

He doesn't do it intentionally, or at least not consciously. The emotion filling his lungs shoots down his spine and grips his limbs, and abruptly, the world dematerializes around him.

He's standing on a windy moor beneath a low sky. In the distance stands a tumbledown stone house, dark gray against the pewter-gray clouds.

A few raindrops splatter on his face. It's going to rain.

"Well, fuck," Remus says.

  


Six hours later, he is trudging down a street in Inverness. It's six o'clock, but at this latitude and time of year the city still has the look of late afternoon, slanting sunlight interspersed with long shadows. Before Remus enters the hotel, he steps behind a bush and casts Scouring and Hot-Air Charms on his clothes. He manages to get them more-or-less dry, but a bit of mud remains on his trousers.

The hotel clerk stares, but Remus looks intently ahead as he walks to the stairs, as if he always goes about with a broomstick in hand.

Upstairs, the door to the room is unlocked. Remus grips the doorknob, bracing himself before he goes inside. He feels truly awful about his disappearing act, but he's had six hours to practice apologies. He wonders if any of them will work.

He enters to find Sirius sprawled across one of the double beds, propped up on pillows. Tinny electronic music comes from the small gray device he is clutching in both hands. It takes Remus a moment to process the image: Sirius, inexplicably, is playing a Gameboy.

Sirius glances up, lifts his eyebrows. "Whose broomstick is that?"

"Mine," Remus says, leaning it in the corner. "Where on earth did you get that thing?"

"Nice kid, staying down the corridor," Sirius says. "Met the whole family at lunch. Gave her a tenner to borrow it for the day. Mum didn't mind. Odd bird, I think she fancied me. That or she's hoping I'll throw it down a well and they'll be shut of it. Have you ever played on one?"

This conversation is not going in remotely the direction that Remus expected. "I can't say I have."

"It's a bit brilliant. Ha!" He looks up at Remus. "I've just got this bracelet thing and now I can pick them up and throw them. The chickens. There are chickens."

Remus wonders if Sirius is needling him on purpose. Perhaps this is all an act, and when the front comes down, he is going to be in even worse trouble than he thought.

He studies Sirius. Sirius is grinning inanely at the Gameboy, pressing buttons and muttering to himself.

"I am going to take a shower," Remus announces, and marches past him into the bathroom.

When he comes out again, Sirius has sat up, but he's still playing the game. Remus, feeling greatly revived by fifteen minutes of hot water, sits on the edge of the other bed.

"Am I interrupting?" he ventures.

"Let me pause it." Sirius jabs at buttons, and the device silences. He tosses it aside. "Well, how's your dad?"

Remus stares, trying to parse the words. "I haven't been to my father's."

"Oh." Sirius frowns at the broomstick. "You couldn't have Disapparated all the way back to Wales..."

"I went to Yorkshire," Remus says. "I'm so sorry. It wasn't intentional. I wanted to come back right away, but I don't know this city well enough to Apparate here. I had to nick a broomstick out of the shed."

"Whose shed? What's in Yorkshire?"

Remus brings his legs up onto the bed. "What's in Yorkshire is the house my father bought me."

"Since when have you got two houses?"

"My father intended it as a place for me to transform. He was moving to Glasgow and wanted me to move in with him, but I needed somewhere safe to spend the moons. The property in Yorkshire was ideal—the only house in a remote valley, protective spells cast by the last owner. Happily, in a moment of self-preservation, I realized that moving back in with my father at the age of 22 was not a wise course of action. Instead I moved to Yorkshire full-time. I lived there for three years."

"Oh," Sirius says after a moment. By his tone and expression, he understands exactly what those years were like for Remus.

"Dad was furious, but that was nothing to the row we had when I bought the cottage in Wales. At least in Yorkshire I had the money Mam left me. I spent nearly all of it when I moved to Pembrokeshire. He couldn't see why I would spend my savings to trade one derelict cottage for another."

"One was a prison, and the other wasn't," Sirius says. He's quite still, his gray eyes fixed on Remus.

Remus nods. "Sirius," he says, voice rough. "Leaving you like that, I can't imagine what you must have thought."

"Don't worry about it."

"It's something that... happens. I think it's because of the war. I—freeze. And then I run."

Sirius lies back on the bed, propping one foot on the opposite knee. "You did that before the war, Moony."

Remus feels the words like someone's stuck a blade in his chest, but he tries not to show it. "I suppose I did," he says quietly.

"So why haven't you sold the place in Yorkshire? Or did your dad not deed it to you?"

Remus chooses his words carefully. "As a matter of fact, I do go back there from time to time. I've got friends living there. Tenants of a sort."

"Who the hell would...?" Then Sirius sits up, staring. "Arse of a double-ended newt. They're werewolves, aren't they!"

"I didn't—"

"You always wanted to meet people like you! What are they like?" Sirius grins. "Was your dad right? Have they tried to conscript you to their cause?"

"Sirius, _no one can know about this_ ," Remus says in a hushed voice. "Especially now that I've been outed. They live in wizarding society like I do. No one can know we're friends, or that they live in that house. If someone realized that we disappear on the same day every month..."

Sirius smirks. "I won't tell anyone. I will observe that you are a massive hypocrite. They're living there rent-free, yeah?"

"It's not the same, and I said I don't want to talk about it."

"Fine," Sirius says, holding up his hands. "What did they say when you showed up on their doorstep?"

"They didn't see me," Remus says curtly. "I took the broomstick from the shed and left. I... very much doubt they'll want to be in contact, at least until things quiet down for me. And I don't blame them," he adds, before Sirius can say anything.

Sirius picks up the Gameboy again. "Their loss." He presses a button, and electronic music begins playing again.

Remus goes to sit beside him on the bed. He looks down at the pixel village on the Gameboy screen and watches the tiny figure try to pick up a fox. It goes badly.

He ventures to put a hand on Sirius's shoulder. "You're really all right?" he says quietly. "I must have spooked you."

"Why?" Sirius says dryly. "Because I have abandonment issues?" He looks up at Remus, and surprises him with a smile. "Don't be a prat. I knew you were coming back."

***

In the morning, Susan Mackenzie takes one look at Remus's Ford and shepherds them into her Land Rover. Sirius catches sight of Remus's expression and tries not to grin; it's obvious their two-day journey was for nothing. Remus has always prided himself on his halfblood status, but he still has the wizarding tendency to overcompensate when it comes to blending in with Muggles.

They must drive a hundred and fifty miles that day. The weather is sunny and breezy, with occasional wisps of clouds, and the light makes every house look like something from an advert. There's an eight-bedroom lodge with breathtaking mountain views, an old stone farmhouse (Remus spends fifteen minutes exclaiming over the vintage Aga cooker), an over-designed modern country house with a pair of piebald Shetland ponies in the paddock out back. Sirius is particularly taken with a nineteenth-century stone church that has been converted into a bed and breakfast. ("Absolutely not," Remus says, when they find a Jacuzzi has been installed in one of the vaulted-ceilinged bathrooms.)

Between houses, Susan Mackenzie plays Radio 3 and points out local landmarks along the mountain roads. They fall to chatting, for all the world as if Sirius weren't a long-haired skeleton in sunglasses. Sirius can't quite remember how to hold up his end of the conversation, but Remus takes over, he and Susan comparing notes on their childhoods in rural Wales and rural Scotland. They stop for lunch at a posh restaurant near Balmoral Castle. Sirius, still accustomed to dog manners, tries to pay particular attention to the proper use of utensils and makes sure to chew his coronation chicken before swallowing.

They see eight properties that day. By late afternoon, it occurs to Sirius that he's got to choose one. Right now the church has the most appeal, but he's not sure if it's the prospect of installing an organ and hulking in the shadows like Lon Chaney in _Phantom of the Opera_ , or if he just wants to annoy Remus.

"You're not in a hurry, are you, lads?" Susan asks as they travel back toward Inverness, edging the Cairngorms. "If you like history"—this to Remus, who's been nattering on about vernacular cottages—"I've got something interesting to show you before we go back. Just came on the market."

"What do you reckon?" Remus asks Sirius.

"Yeah, sure," Sirius says, swallowing the yawn that almost comes out with his words.

They leave the main road and start up a gravel two-track that winds along the side of a hill. It forks, and Susan begins down the lane that's in worse repair.

They drive for about a mile through a pine wood, the lane more rut that road. Then the Land Rover crests a slope, and they descend into a narrow glen.

The landscape is particularly beautiful in late afternoon. Scrubby meadow rises to heathland, all green and purple shadow. A dazzling silver-blue stream flows across the valley.

On a rise beside the river stands a building that draws a sharp exhale from Sirius. It's a stone tower, square in design, with a pair of pointed turrets and a steep gable roof.

Susan parks at the end of the road, which at this point is mostly an indentation between hills. Before she's shifted the transmission to park, Sirius has climbed out of the car and begun toward the tower.

The stone is light brown beneath crumbling white grout. Windows glint in the slanting sunlight; the building is old, but it's no ruin. As he approaches, he can see a garden at the tower's feet, wild as a storybook illustration, all tangled roses and overgrown hedges.

Remus jogs forward until they're walking together. His mouth is slightly open.

Sirius grins. "Look at that thing. It's a—!"

" _Not here_." Remus sends a meaningful glance back at Susan, who is following at a desultory pace, hands in her jacket pockets.

"But it is, isn't it?" Sirius says in an undertone.

Remus gives him a quick smile. "Oh, definitely."

"Don't get too excited, lads," Susan says, coming up behind them. "It isn't livable. A woman over in the village is selling it—just inherited it from her mother, but the family never had any use for the property other than pasture."

"What's the history of the place?" Remus asks, with studied casualness.

"I don't think anyone rightly knows. A tower house, they call it. I've spoken with a mason who specializes in conservation projects, and sixteenth-century is his best guess. He wouldn't step foot in the place, 'tisn't safe. Lovely place to build, though, if you were considering new construction."

But Sirius doesn't need this Muggle estate agent to tell him what he's looking at. The stone tower is a wizard's tower.

There are hundreds of them across Britain, nearly all built by the magical community. One of his cousins by marriage, Ignatius Prewett, lived in a lovely limestone tower outside Bath. There are several theories as to the origins of the design, but the one he remembers is Lily's. "Wizards," she'd said grimly after a particularly tedious History of Magic lesson their seventh year, "like to look down on people."

He halts at the edge of the garden. Pink roses bloom everywhere, and the stream makes music against its stony bed. A place like this is magical in more ways than one.

"Look at the turrets," Remus says softly.

Sirius follows his gaze. The round turrets give an air of whimsy to the simple lines of the tower. Other than the roof, they're the only part of the building that's not grouted white. Some long ago stonemason perched large, fanciful stone creatures on their pointed roofs.

Sirius looks at each in turn—an upright eagle, a long-nosed badger, a sinuous serpent, and a large, graceful lion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surely the Lovegoods aren't the only wizards who live in a tower. This Scottish tower house is loosely inspired by [Coxton Tower](https://www.thecastlesofscotland.co.uk/the-best-castles/other-articles/coxton-tower/).


	11. Chapter 11

"Well?" Sirius says, once they're standing in front of the hotel. "Are we going to break into that tower?"

He expects a protest, but instead Remus looks thoughtful. "I wonder if the Escort can get down the road."

"If it gets stuck, we'll levitate it out." Giddiness suffuses Sirius like strong drink. The last time he felt this alive, he was about to commit a murder. "Moony, those animals!"

They enter the hotel lobby. "Rowena Ravenclaw did live in this part of the world," Remus says in an undertone. "But the tower isn't _that_ old."

Sirius does his best to match Remus's volume. "We've got to talk to the daughter. Think her mum was a witch?"

"If she were, I don't imagine the daughter would sell the place to Muggles. No, I doubt she knows what she's selling."

"It's perfect, though," Sirius says. "If it's habitable. Harry can live in his own tower."

"Harry already lives in a tower," Remus says. "I recommend you restrain your enthusiasm until we see the inside."

They have Chinese for dinner, then return to the hotel room and wait for night to fall. Sirius wishes he still had the Gameboy. Instead, he folds origami animals out of hotel stationary and practices charming them alive. He's getting better at conjuring; it's vanishing that still eludes him. Remus flips through channels on the television before settling on the Sunday night film on BBC1, a bit of silliness starring John Cleese. (Sirius has to do a double-take to be sure it's him—even the Pythons have got old.)

At ten o'clock, Remus decides it's close enough to sunset to set off. They drive east out of town, the sky behind them the color of flame.

The drive takes an hour. Every atom in Sirius's body is fairly humming by the time they turn off the main road. He feels as if some poison has drained from his veins. Like he's sixteen again.

Remus makes an involuntary sound of pain the first time a rock hits the undercarriage of his car.

"This was your idea as well," Sirius says. "Don't worry, I'll buy you a new car."

Remus eases off the gas, until they're traveling at a crawl. "I won't need a new car," he says tensely. "Because I am a _very_ good driver."

Somehow they make it to the end of the lane, though Sirius suspects the car's body and undercarriage have acquired a number of new dents that will have to be charmed away later. Remus parks at the crest of the hill and turns off the headlights, and they get out.

It's a chilly, clear night; innumerable stars spangle the sky, and the gibbous moon hangs in the west. Sirius still knows the moon's phases by heart—even if he'd lost track of the days, its shape and position tells him it's about two weeks until the full moon.

The tower shines white as bone in the darkened glen. As they approach, Sirius can smell the rose garden. The white and pink blooms, like the tower itself, are faintly luminous. Sirius could lose himself in the enormity of this night, the stretch of the sky, the vast darkness and everything that shines in that darkness. Sometimes he feels this way when he's Padfoot, almost never when he's human.

"Ready?" Remus asks, and Sirius can hear the eagerness in his voice. He imagines pulling Remus into a kiss, but that isn't exactly what he wants, even though the thought sends his heart beating hard. He wants to forget he has a body; he wants the exhilaration of this moment to sweep _Sirius_ away entirely.

They walk up stone steps that lead to the front entrance. The wooden door is studded with iron nails in a diamond pattern, and in the middle is a door knocker in the shape of a creature that some might mistake for a unicorn, but Sirius recognizes as a winged horse.

Remus tries the door handle, but it's locked. He takes out his wand and turns to Sirius with a smile. "Shall we see what's inside?"

Sirius grins back. "Only if you solemnly swear that you're up to no good."

Rather to Sirius's surprise, the lock clicks open as soon as the wand taps the door. He wonders if there's some other magic that's discouraged Muggles from investigating the house further.

Remus puts a hand on his shoulder. "Why don't you do the honors?"

Sirius retrieves his own wand. " _Lumos_ ," he mutters, and the wand lights without incident. He opens the door and steps inside.

"Well, fuck me backward with a splintered broomstick," he says slowly.

They're looking into a large, square room with a vaulted stone ceiling. Beside him, Remus sneezes—there's dust everywhere, coating furniture, carpets, windows. But beneath the dust, the room is almost as luminous as the moonlit night.

Remus lights the tip of his own wand, and the glow falls on furnishings that have nothing to do with the tower's sixteenth-century exterior. Sirius sees ebony-black furniture with gilded patterns, a Chinese screen with golden chrysanthemums, mirrors with elaborate bronze frames. The walls are lined with paintings that look as if they belong in an art museum. Stone hearths on either end of the room are hidden behind painted firescreens. A massive bookcase stands in one corner, a guitar with withered strings in another.

Sirius steps inside. His gaze fixes on a painting of a woman in a gold robe, studying a crystal ball. It could have been painted by a wizard, but— "Moony, none of these paintings move."

"That one wouldn't," Remus says. "Sirius, that's a Burne-Jones."

"A what?"

"Muggle painter. Famous one, got paintings in the Tate." Remus's wand traces a beam across the wall. "Some of these are Scottish artists, I think... Christ, that's a Whistler..."

Sirius goes to the bookshelf. He casts a charm to blow away the dust, revealing names as Muggle as the painters Remus named: Christina Rossetti, William Morris, E.M. Forster, Max Planck. There are stacks of journals as well—something called _Studio Magazine_ , and some others with German titles. Decades of the _Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of London_.

"This doesn't make sense..."

"Let's go upstairs," Remus suggests.

There's a spiral staircase in one corner. They head upstairs and find themselves in another beautifully appointed square room. This one is a large study, or perhaps a workroom. There's an elegant writing desk (locked) in one corner and more bookcases, more paintings. In one corner, a large table covered with—

"Lenses," Remus says, picking one up. It's about the size of a magnifying glass, or the lens in a telescope. Beside the table, a bookcase is filled not with books but boxes, some marked with cryptic strings of numbers. Sirius opens one and find a pair of round lenses, rather like the ones Harry wears.

"An _optician_ ," Sirius says flatly.

"They could still have been a magical family," Remus says. "Though there aren't that many wizarding opticians."

"Wouldn't know," Sirius says, replacing the box. "Mum didn't believe in glasses. Went about with her great-aunt's monocle rather than admit she needed readers."

The next story has been partitioned into two bedrooms. One is sparsely furnished, a single bedstead and a floral carpet. The other is littered with the paraphernalia of young manhood from the earlier part of the century. A hockey stick leans in one corner, and a pile of boys' magazines molder on top of a dresser. Sirius lingers in this bedroom for only a moment; something about the dust and darkness gives it a haunted feeling.

The door to the topmost story is locked.

Remus tries _Alohomora_ , as well as several more powerful (and destructive) unlocking spells, but the door won't budge.

"Well," he says, "definitely wizards."

Sirius takes hold of the doorknob and rattles the lock. "But they can't have been. All these Muggle things—"

"Some wizards like Muggle things." Remus takes his hand. "Come on, we haven't explored the ground story yet."

"The cellar, you mean," Sirius says, and because his atoms are still humming, he takes a chance and twines his fingers through Remus's.

"It's _at_ ground level," Remus says. "It can't be a cellar, because no one would enter the cellar of a mysterious abandoned tower in the middle of the night. That would be rather stupid."

He doesn't let go of Sirius's hand.

The ground story turns out to be a dine-in kitchen. There's a big cast-iron cookstove—"but no coal," Remus says, "and no coal bin"—and a china cabinet filled with porcelain dishes and a collection of rather Space Age metal teapots. An icebox of the sort that's still common in wizarding homes. There's even a set of taps, though nothing happens when Sirius turns them on. Further evidence of plumbing comes to light when Remus opens what appears to be a closet and discovers a cramped bathroom, furnished with a half-sized clawfoot tub and a toilet with a pull chain.

They go upstairs, take one last look around the drawing room, and exit out into the night. Remus locks the door with a tap of his wand, and they break into a run down the stone steps, emerging out into the garden.

It's a tangle of foliage, black against the starry sky. The air is richly perfumed, the scent not only of roses but of heath and hedge and cold mountain water. Sirius's pulse sparks in his throat, wrists, belly.

Remus's hands are in his jacket pockets. "I'd forgotten how fun that could be," he says, teeth chattering slightly.

"What, breaking and entering?" Sirius comes close and, before he can second-guess himself, puts an arm around Remus's waist. "Merlin, Moony, we've got to get you a warmer coat."

Remus extracts a hand, and flames appear in his cupped palm. It produces enough heat that Sirius feels his skin start to warm. "Suppose I should have brought my cloak."

They begin to walk back to the car. Sirius keeps the arm around his waist, and Remus doesn't move away. "Your cloak? With Muggles around?"

"It's warmer than any of my Muggle coats. I started wearing it in the village a few years back, people think it's a charming affectation. What do you think is in that locked room?"

Sirius accepts the subject change. "Short-sighted Acromantula. Wears four pairs of glasses, keeps treading on them and needing to replace the lenses."

"Remember that time James swore he saw—?"

"Yeah, well..." Sirius mimes drinking.

Remus gives him a lopsided smile. "You're one to talk, Judy Collins."

"What are you—oh." Sirius laughs. "I'd forgotten about that night. Can't say I remember it all that well in the first place..."

"You practically had a full-service bar under your bed that year."

"Come off it, we didn't drink that much."

"Remember the firewhisky you tried to smuggle into the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw match?"

"Minerva McGonagall is a bloody hypocrite. _She_ was drinking through that match, you know it. James in the hospital wing, and Malinda Vane banned for the season... Besides, it wasn't firewhisky by the time she got to it."

"It wasn't pumpkin juice either. I couldn't believe it when you told us she'd set you detention learning to transfigure liquor properly."

"Yeah, never worked out if that was the Transfiguration professor or the Scot in her."

They stop in front of the car. "Oh hell," Remus says. "I've got to get out of here, haven't I? And in the pitch-black."

This is somehow so funny that Sirius bursts into helpless laughter.

"Oh, thanks a lot—"

Sirius ducks his face onto Remus's shoulder. "Welcome," he says between giggles.

"Could've been worse, I suppose." Remus disentangles himself from Sirius and opens the driver-side door. "No curses. No undead rats. Nothing nasty lurking in the cellar..."

Sirius, regretfully, steps away from him and gets into the car. "All that posh Muggle stuff, though. And that fucking door."

"Odd place all around."

"Yeah."

Soon they're a half-mile along the lane, and Remus's swearing has slowed to an occasional intermittent "Damn."

"Remus," Sirius says, "thanks."

"Thank me when I've got this car back to Inverness in one piece."

"Yeah, but... you know. All of it. You've been... generous."

Remus glances over and says, "Really, I think this is me being selfish. Could have packed you off on the train to Inverness."

Sirius must be as tired as Remus sounds, because he asks a question he wouldn't usually dare put to words. "And why didn't you?"

"Didn't want to give you up quite yet."

The car makes a crashing sound as they veer off the track and drive over what feels like an entire fallen tree. Remus exclaims something unrepeatable, but Sirius hardy notices. He's gliding on air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Space Age teapot](https://collections.vam.ac.uk/item/O78328/teapot-dresser-christopher/)!


	12. Chapter 12

Remus wakes to sunlight blazing around the edges of the curtains. He groans and sits up slowly; every mile he’s spent in a car over the past few days has settled into his cramped muscles.

Sirius is sitting fully dressed on the other bed. He's folded two origami birds and has set them zooming in circles, chasing one another like a pair of rogue Bludgers.

"Morning, princess," he says, giving Remus a bright smile. "Sleep well?"

"You're chipper," Remus says, trying not to sound too disgusted.

"Yeah, I am. Guess what I've done this morning." Before Remus can venture a response, Sirius continues, "I've been to see Susan."

It takes Remus a few moments to parse the words. "You don't mean—"

"I'm buying the tower," Sirius says, sounding absurdly pleased with himself.

Remus looks blearily at the digital clock. It's nearly half-past ten. If he hadn't slept in, if they hadn't got back at two in the morning the night before, he might have prevented this. Well, maybe not. But he feels in retrospect he should at least have seen it coming.

"I suppose the owner has got to agree first?"

"She has done already," Sirius says breezily. "She's given instructions to accept the first reasonable offer. Susan will send me the documents by post in a week or so. I gave her your address, hope you don't mind."

Remus decides not to ask if Sirius used a Confundus Charm to finesse the finer details. "Do you _know_ my address?"

"You've got all those Muggle magazines lying around, haven't you? _Music Maker_ or whatever it's called. I saw your address on them. Photographic memory." Sirius taps the side of his head with his wand, which sparks alarmingly.

Remus tries to keep his tone even. He'll get nowhere if Sirius thinks he disapproves. "The place won you over, then."

"I think Harry will like it," Sirius says. "There's loads of room to fly the Firebolt. Not to mention, it must be thirty miles to Hogwarts as the owl flies, if I've got the lay of the land right. I'll be right there if he needs me."

"And that locked room?" Remus could also mention the rooms of priceless Muggle art, or the fact that the only functioning loo is three stories below the bedrooms, but he'll begin with the mysterious locked room.

"That's part of the fun, isn't it? Once Harry gets up there, I thought I'd borrow his broomstick and try to break in through the window. There's got to be a way in."

"Well, I'm pleased you found somewhere you like," Remus says. "But... I don't know. I wonder if we should write to Dumbledore. Those stone animals..."

"I can't see what Dumbledore has got to do with it. He doesn't own Hogwarts. Or magic." Remus's disapproval must show in his face, because Sirius rolls his eyes. "I'll send him an owl if I run out of ideas. Come on, get dressed. You've been sleeping forever, and I want to go out to celebrate."

Sirius's celebration is a late breakfast at a cafe. Sirius orders them both cappuccinos, which Remus has to admit is rather nice.

Afterward, they check out of the hotel and head south. Scotland passes in an overcast blur; Sirius messes with the radio dial and talks happily about Harry joining him in a couple weeks. (Remus doesn't question his timeline.) He's brought back a pile of Muggle tourism brochures from the estate agent, hiking and botanical gardens and Balmoral Castle and something in Aberdeen called the Beach Leisure Center, which honestly sounds the most promising of the lot if you're a fourteen-year-old boy.

For his part, Remus is glad to be heading home. He is done with driving, done with Sirius paying his way every day, and frankly done with his own riotous heart.

He knows he allowed himself to get sentimental last night. Walking through the chilly darkness with Sirius's arm around him and the feeling of having pulled off a caper, it was easy to imagine that they were back in school together, that no time had passed at all. Remus thinks the worst possible thing they can do is to go on like this. Neither Sirius nor he are the young men they once were, and expecting things to fall back into place is surely an exercise in futility.

The truth is, Remus isn't even sure whether he wants to get back together with Sirius. (Is it "getting back together" if you were secret boyfriends when you were seventeen? Does any of what happened between them actually count?)

He tries to work out the calculus as he drives, a distraction from the endless stretches of dual carriageway.

On one side of the equation, there's Sirius himself.

Wrecked as Sirius is, when they're in the same room Remus feels like a compass, drawn inexorably toward magnetic north. Everything about Sirius attracts: his tall, slender frame, his broad shoulders and pale, intense eyes. The flash of his smile.

He likes the way Sirius looks at him. Likes the way he says "Moony" in an offhand way, as if it's the only thing Remus has ever been called. He likes taking Sirius's hand and feeling slim fingers close firmly around his own.

When they were together in the Shrieking Shack and Remus understood the truth of what had happened thirteen years earlier, it was as if his heart had been wrenched into some new and unfamiliar shape. As if his entire body had been torn open and then shoved back together, just like the moon rearranges his bones, only this time he'd been put back together right.

He loves Sirius, and he can't imagine a time when he'll stop loving him.

On the other hand:

Remus doesn't know Sirius anymore.

Sirius doesn't know Remus either. Sirius doesn't know himself. Remus thinks it's probably for the best that he's moving to Scotland, because being on opposite sides of an island is exactly the kind of emotional space they both need right now.

Remus is good at giving comfort, but Sirius needs more than comfort, albums and bowls of soup and a place on Remus's sofa. Sirius needs to live. He needs to ride motorbikes and play video games and make new memories, memories Dementors can't touch.

He doesn't need to pin all his hopes on Remus, who spent five years too afraid to love him, and thirteen years after that believing Sirius was the kind of person who could hand his best friends over to their deaths. Remus knows how poorly he's treated Sirius. He has so many regrets, but there's nothing he can do to mend the past. The best he can do is stay the hell out of Sirius's way.

God knows they're both nostalgic. But nostalgia isn't the same as romance, and a boy you loved when you were young isn't the same as a partner. When it comes to true partnership, Remus knows how little he has to offer.

Sirius, after all, is not the only person he's loved and lost.

Around Glasgow, the weather deteriorates. By the time they come to the Lake District, rain is sheeting down the Ford's windscreen, spoiling any scenic views of mountains and tarns they might have enjoyed. They stop at an inn outside Penrith. It's the tourist season and there's a surcharge on rooms with an extra bed; the clerk, whose parted hair and large glasses make him look like a younger John Major, does not seem pleased when Remus says they're happy to share.

"Well, fuck him," Sirius says under his breath as they walk toward the stairs.

The moment they enter the room, Remus falls facedown in the middle of the bed, arms splayed like a starfish.

"Pads will have to sleep on the floor," he mumbles, "as I don't think I can get up again."

"You've got to," Sirius says. "Take a look."

Remus rolls onto his side. On the window ledge are two somewhat bedraggled owls. One is Sweet William; beside him is a larger owl, a snowy. It's Harry's owl, Hedwig. She makes a clicking sound and bends to groom damp feathers.

Sirius winches open the casement window. "Just think if old Four-Eyes downstairs saw this lot. Then he'd really understand what sort of freaks he has staying at his hotel."

He removes the letter from Hedwig's leg and spells it dry before breaking the seal. Remus, with a feeling of doomed inevitability, rises to do the same with his father's owl.

The letter from Remus's dad consists of a newspaper clipping and a short note. The clipping shows a photograph of Sirius in Azkaban, with matted hair and sunken eyes blinking slowly at the viewer. Remus glances surreptitiously at the man standing beside him and is struck at how much better Sirius looks these days. His hair, though still charmed long, is healthy and clean. There's color in his gaunt cheeks, and his shadowed eyes have a spark that's missing in the photograph.

_PARDONED MASS MURDERER HUNTS FOR HOGSMEADE HOME_

_Yesterday, in_ _a surprise_ _visit to_ _the_ _community_ _he terrorized over the course of nine months, former Azkaban convict Sirius Black_ _w_ _as sighted viewing residential properties in_ _the historic wizarding village of_ _Hogsmeade. Sources tell us that Black, astonishingly,_ _seeks to purchase a house_ _less than a mile from Hogwarts School,_ _where_ _five_ _hundred young witches and wizards_ _will_ _return to their studies in September._

 _Accompanied by unregistered werewolf Remus Lupin, whose illegal stint as Defense_ _Against the Dark Arts_ _professor under the watch of headmaster Albus Dumbledore ended in an abrupt sacking..._

"For Christ's sake, I wasn't sacked!"

"What's that?" Sirius says, looking up from his own letter.

Remus wordlessly hands the article to Sirius and turns his attention to the note from his father.

_My dear Remus,_

_I apologize for subjecting you to rubbish, but I know you do not take the_ Prophet _. I feel it is important that you know what is being written about you._

_I suppose I must understand that you have resumed the connection with Black. Remus, I shall venture to say that I know you very well, better than perhaps you give me credit for. I know that your character leads you to put the welfare of others before yourself._

_Now is not the time to compromise yourself for the sake of a schoolboy friendship. Black is an unstable character. If you do not look out for your own interests, who will?_

_Please come to Glasgow next month. Stay for a few weeks, even if you refuse to stay longer. Let me know the earliest date you will be available._

_All my love,_

_Your Dad_

Remus pulls out his wand and taps the letter. It vanishes, words disintegrating, parchment shrinking to nothing. His palms feel itchy, as if he ought to be holding a quill. He tells himself that he'll write back to his father when he gets home. If he continues to ignore the letters, he suspects his dad will show up in Pembrokeshire without an invitation.

"Do this one too," Sirius says, scowling at the news clipping. "My Vanishing spells are still going wrong."

Remus taps the page to oblivion. "Never mind about him," he says firmly. "What does Harry write?"

"Says hi to you, and thank you for the sweets. Petunia is still starving the family. Cousin is taking it out on Harry—sounds like a little shit, honestly."

"Petunia was always jealous of Lily," Remus says. "Perhaps her son is a bit of the same."

"Good thing I'm getting him out of there. Is there something to write with?"

Remus finds hotel stationary on a side table and hands him a notepad and a biro.

"Dead useful, these things," Sirius says, admiring the biro for a moment before uncapping it. "Not as much fun as a quill, but my handwriting's gone to hell anyway."

"You're adorable," Remus says, before remembering this isn't the sort of thing you say to a friend you're trying not to fall back in love with. Still, when Sirius glances up and gives him a puzzled but pleased smile, he returns it.

When they get home the next day, Remus immediately announces he's going to bed and naps through the rest of the afternoon. Dinner is baked beans on toast; afterward, Remus curls up in the armchair and begins a novel that Tony sent him for Christmas, _The Buddha of Suburbia_. Sirius lies on the sofa with an issue of _Melody Maker_ and charms the words into absurdist anagrams ("Melody Maker" becomes "Rammed Yokel"). His spells have been mostly working these days, with the exception of Vanishing spells and any attempts to restore his hair to a reasonable length.

They go to bed early. Sirius retires to the camp bed, and Remus climbs into his own bed. Finally things are returning to some sketchy semblance of normal, though Remus must admit he sleeps badly. He blames the afternoon nap.

"I'm going into the village for groceries," he says the next morning over breakfast. "Care to come?"

Sirius downs half his coffee in one gulp. "Nah, I need to get my Apparition up to snuff. I'll be relying on it until I can get Floo installed in the new place."

Somehow, Remus had forgotten this aspect of Sirius buying a house in rural Scotland. "I can drive you north again..."

"Don't be stupid. I'll Floo to Hogsmeade and Apparate from there. I want to get back up there before the sale goes through, start getting things ready for Harry."

Remus imagines the front-page headline: CONVICTED KILLER LEAVES LEGS BEHIND IN HOGSMEADE. He imagines the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad showing up at the cottage and finding some pretext to haul both of them before the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"It's your choice," he says slowly, "but Sirius, are you sure you—?"

"Come off it, I know how to Apparate. I just need to get my hand back into it, that's all."

Remus refrains from making a comment about hands and the dislocation thereof. "Well, no doubt you're right. Best of luck."

Sirius looks hard at him, but the next moment he drains the rest of the coffee. "Be in the garden," he says, and disappears out the back door, leaving behind the empty coffee cup and a plate of half-eaten food. Remus wonders if it is time for a tactful conversation about washing up, and how he's been doing all of it.

After he returns from St. Byrnach's, he goes out to the back garden. Sirius is standing in the center of the lawn with the slightly cross-eyed expression that Remus remembers from Apparition lessons at school. He flickers briefly, only to reappear in the same spot.

"Give a shout if you splinch yourself," Remus says, and walks away before either of them can start a row.

Sirius spends the next few days out in the garden, only coming in at mealtimes. The weather is clear, if cool, and if Remus privately thinks that Apparition is a skill best relearned with time and patience, Sirius does not seem to be in the mood for advice. It's the same mood Remus remembers from their schooldays, most often when he and James were deadset on learning an impossibly challenging new spell (generally one forbidden to students). So Remus minds his own business, and does all the washing up.

He writes a letter to his father, dodging the invitation to Glasgow with a suggestion that they visit Remus’s maternal grandmother in Dinas Powys. (Remus can't say he feels close to Mam-gu Eluned, a woman of extreme old age and forbidding aspect whose chief pleasures in life are Welsh language radio and the Methodist church. Still, now that Mam is gone, he and Dad pay her an annual Boxing Day visit, and Remus feels guilty for missing it last year.)

Remus can't explain why he's so hesitant to visit his father in Glasgow. It's not as if the second he enters the house his father will lock him in an upstairs room, like a princess in a fairy tale. At least, he's fairly certain this isn't his father's plan.

He supposes it's the idea of being on his father's home turf. Dad will wheedle him into extending the visit, and soon his insinuations about how badly Remus has fouled up his life will start to feel true, until at last it requires every bit of Remus's resolve not to move back home, or accept a monthly allowance, or move into a residential home for werewolves in Alberta, Canada. (His father only abandoned this last scheme when the home was implicated in the mauling of a pair of Muggle mine engineers.)

After Remus sends off Blodeuwedd with the letter, he lounges about the house, reading _The Buddha of Suburbia_ , making endless cups of tea and then forgetting to drink them. He supposes he's a bit depressed. Sirius will be leaving soon, and once he's gone, what will Remus have? Hanif hasn't written back to him, and of the people he considers friends, only Rosie has been in touch. He's got plenty of money, particularly after he deposits the bag of gold Sirius pressed into his hands after they returned from Scotland, but sitting around unemployed isn't doing him any favors.

Before Remus's year teaching at Hogwarts, he thought he was content with his life. He liked supply teaching, and Hanif was a fair boss and never complained about his monthly absences. Now, though, the prospect of returning to his old life feels like a penance. He'll never work among wizards again, and he'll never blend in among Muggles. He's trapped between two worlds and at ease in neither.

Some people would find another purpose for their life, one that doesn't involve work or even other people. Remus thinks of Chandra and his paintings, or Mam and her books. But Remus has always been hopeless at finding purpose in solitude. He craves the company of others; loneliness is an old companion, but not a welcome one.

Of course, he doesn't have to be alone now. If he went into the back garden and told Sirius he wanted to accept his money, even wanted to move in with him, Sirius would have him in a heartbeat.

Remus won't do it. He won't be a burden on his friend, and he won't give up his independence, not after defending it so fiercely from his father. He'll find another way forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent more time than I care to admit researching the process for buying a house in Scotland in the early nineties, only to decide that if there was ever a time to handwave the details, this was it. You're welcome.
> 
> Mam-gu/Mamgu: [grandmother](https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/mam-gu) in South Wales. Mam-gu Eluned will not be making an appearance, but I suspect she was a Welsh nationalist in her younger days, much to the horror of her Tory daughter. Hope inherited her mother's Welsh pride and Calvinist leanings, but her politics were her father's. Hope's father worked in [Barry](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barry_Docks) as a clerk for the Great Western Railway and was pro-business and pro-Britain; he's the one who insisted their children's given names be English. And that is all the off-the-cuff Hope Howell fanon I will subject you to for the moment.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: this chapter contains a brief depiction of self-harm; while it's not graphic, I wanted to give readers a heads-up.

"Well," Sirius says directly in Remus's ear, "that's mischief managed."

To his delight, Remus startles so badly that the pages of his newspaper scatter across the sofa.

"Christ," he says, pushing himself to sitting. "Don't do that."

Sirius give him his best toothy grin and begins gathering up the newspaper. "You're the one who hasn't got an anti-Apparition charm on your house."

"The wards failed when I was at school. I'll redo them before the full moon." Remus frowns. "Did you Apparate in here without knowing whether it would work?"

Sirius leans on the arm of the sofa. "I felt it out first."

"You can't _feel out..._!"

But Sirius stops listening. The pictures on the page he's holding aren't moving. It's the classified section from a Muggle newspaper, and beside a column of cars for sale, an advert is circled in pencil.

_Temporary Cleaners Wanted: Carmarthen_

"Sirius—" Remus murmurs.

Sirius looks past the newspaper to stare at him. "Is this a joke? What happened to supply teaching?"

"I can't support myself on supply teaching alone." Remus's tone is one of calm explanation, as if Sirius were one of his students.

"I know that, but I thought you made do, somehow! That's why you're—" He bites back the word _poor_. "Merlin's wand, Remus. A cleaner? And for Muggles—"

"What on earth is wrong with me working for Muggles?"

Sirius catches the edge to Remus's voice. "I didn't mean that, you berk. What I mean is, you wouldn't be able to use magic. That's worse than being a house-elf..."

"No, it's work." Remus's face is expressionless. "But you think I'm above that sort of thing."

"Yes!" Sirius says helplessly. "Of course you are!"

Suddenly Remus flies up from the sofa. More pages scatter.

"I'm going for a walk," he announces. "You can think about how fucking offensive you've just been."

He sweeps out of the house, the front door slamming behind him.

When Sirius's hands stop shaking, he gathers the rest of the newspaper with a flick of his wand, then slides heavily into the seat Remus has vacated.

This is the second time a conversation about work and money has ended in a row. Sirius knows he should let the subject go, but it's like a scab he can't keep picking.

He knows he's right. Remus has no business being a cleaner. And it isn't because he's a wizard... it's because he's _Remus_ , gifted and personable, with so much to offer. He shouldn't have to debase himself, doing dirty, tedious work for the sake of an income.

And Lily's voice says in his head, _Neither should cleaners, you knob. But they do it, don't they?_ _Why shouldn't we?_

After a moment Sirius places the conversation. Third year, his second detention of autumn term. He and Lily were scrubbing toilets under the direction of Argus Filch, who had caught them dueling with Evan Rosier. (Sirius had sent Rosier a rigged package of stink pellets by owl post; Lily had intervened when Rosier attacked him in the second-floor corridor, but her Jelly-Legs Curse had accidentally hit Filch's cat, Lady Catherine—to great comic effect, in Sirius’s opinion.)

Lily Evans was the first person Sirius was friends with—maybe the first person he’d _met—_ who was working-class. Her dad had been a steelworker when she was younger, though by the time she was at school, the factories had closed and he was on the dole. He died of lung cancer when she was eighteen, something to do with asbestos. Sirius remembers her going to Madam Pomfrey after the Christmas holidays their seventh year, begging her for help. Madam Pomfrey taught her to make a potion to ease the symptoms but said it was too late for a cure. Sirius wonders if that was the truth; he knows Lily wondered too.

No one is owed anything. That's what Remus was trying to tell him. Money and health are arbitrary, not earned. It's why Sirius wants to give his gold away, and why Remus won't take it.

Sirius lost almost everything in the war, but it seems he still hasn't grasped the truths he was fighting for. He wishes so badly that Lily were here to tell him he's fucking offensive. Or James, to give him a rueful smile and say, _Well, mate, you had it coming._

He loses it, then—doubles over, and a scream tears from his throat. He can't even transform into Padfoot in order to escape it. His hands close on his hair—his _stupid fucking_ _hair._ He needs to hurt something, needs pain. His nails find flesh and push into it.

Then a blaze of light. He looks up to find that every page of Remus's newspaper has burst into flames.

His heart jolts, but before he can grab his wand, the fires are burning themselves out. Soon a scatter of ashes is all that remains.

Sirius struggles to catch his breath. He lowers his hands to his knees, gripping hard. He _cannot_ lose it. Remus already thinks he's a wreck... If he knows the full truth, maybe he'll decide Sirius can't be trusted to live alone, let alone look after Harry...

He swallows, lifts his wand with a shaky hand and attempts an _Evanesco_ on the ashes. It’s no good. The Vanishing spell only spurts flower petals into the air.

"Shit shit shit," he whispers. Tears prickle the corners of his eyes, the scent of hawthorn is overwhelming, and suddenly he's certain he's going to be sick. If Remus were here—but Sirius has driven away one of the few people who cares whether he's alive or dead. He is just that stupid, and just that selfish.

He forces himself to take deep, slow breaths, and at last the nausea recedes. _I_ _'ll make him take the gold_ , he thinks, _and then we can stop having this fucking argument._

The sound of flame rushes behind him. Sirius rises, whirling around to face the doorway. Green flames have shot up in the inglenook, and Lyall Lupin climbs out onto the hearthstones.

Sirius only has a moment to recognize Remus's dad—his hair steel gray, his lean face considerably more lined than the last time they met—before the business end of a wand is pointing at his face.

" _Where is he?_ "

Sirius drops his own wand and lifts his hands, palms out, before he can process what's happening. "What... what the _hell_?"

Lyall's teeth are bared; he looks out of his mind. If you're involved in this—"

"Put down that wand, will you?" Sirius's voice sounds thin and shaky in his own ears. "I don't..."

The wand lowers, pointing at Sirius's knees instead of his heart. "Where is my son?"

"Remus..." Breathless, Sirius gulps in air. "He's on a walk..."

Blue eyes narrow. "You're lying to me."

"Why would I lie? What is this?"

Lyall doesn't answer. He takes a step back, wand still trained on Sirius's kneecaps, and his gaze moves around the room. He jabs his wand toward a pile of petal-strewn ashes. "What's that?"

"Burned something... accident..."

"A letter? Are you corresponding with them?"

"What are you _on_ about?" Sirius drops his hands to his sides. Lyall's wand hand twitches, but Sirius doesn't believe Remus's dad is going to hex an unarmed man, even if he has gone completely off his broomstick.

" _This_ ," Lyall says savagely. Reaching into his robes, he pulls out a newspaper and thrusts it in Sirius's face.

Merlin, not another newspaper. This one is a _Daily Prophet_ , dated this morning. There's a photograph of Remus on the front page, the same one Sirius has seen in the other clippings Lyall has sent. The photo dates to their Order days; Remus looks about twenty, his eyes swollen from a lingering Conjunctivitis Curse following a run-in with Death Eaters.

Sirius's breath catches at the headline.

DISGRACED WEREWOLF ASSEMBLING PACK IN YORKSHIRE

_by Rita Skeeter_

_An_ _anonymous_ _source has uncovered new revelations about_ _notorious werewolf Remus Lupin, 34,_ _and his ties to Dark creatures in Britain. Sacked from_ _his position at_ _Hogwarts_ _School_ _three weeks ago and subsequently seen in_ _the company of_ _former_ _convict and lifelong_ _friend Sirius Black, Lupin has_ _recently_ _been paying visits to an undisclosed location in Yorkshire, where a pack of werewolves is residing_ _with his financial support._

 _Lupin's p_ _ack is_ _said to consist of unregistered werewolves living anonymously in wizarding society. This likely puts them in violation of last year's Lycanthropy Control Act, championed by Senior Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge._

"How the fuck does she know about this?" Sirius murmurs.

Suddenly the wand is in his face again. "Then you don't deny it!"

Sirius isn't frightened any more, and he isn't falling to pieces. He is filled with rage.

When he speaks, his voice is gravel. "Why the hell should I answer you?"

"My son—"

"Yeah, your son! Are you really going to trust this... steaming pile of _dragon dung_ over Remus? You think he'd do anything to hurt other people?"

The lines of Lyall's face crease tight. "It's his generosity that frightens me. If he's misplaced his trust—"

"Meaning me, I suppose. Or do you mean people who you haven't even met? Moony said you used to go on about how mistreated werewolves were, but you're no different. It's guilty until proven innocent with you."

"That isn't..." Lyall swallows. "I know what sort of lives they've led. They haven't had my son's advantages. If they've misled him..."

Sirius turns away. "You know what, I'm done. You stick a wand in my face and accuse me of Godric know what. Remus can deal with this shit."

He kneels to pick up his wand. Lyall flinches, but Sirius points it at the Spellophonic. An album starts playing, the Nirvana he's been listening to since they got back from Scotland. He twists his wand to turn up the volume and stalks away to the kitchen.

Once he's there he doesn't have anything to do except make instant coffee that he's too edgy to drink. He wishes he'd sent Lyall packing. Instead Remus is going to come home to an emotionally disturbed housemate and a father who believes he's in league with rogue werewolves. He can't fathom how that woman, Rita Skeeter, knows about Remus's friends in Yorkshire. Is she listening in on their conversations somehow? Is she doing it right now?

"Frances Farmer Will Have Her Revenge on Seattle" is playing when Remus comes in. Sirius goes to stand in the doorway of the kitchen, arms crossed.

Lyall enters the hall and hands Remus the newspaper. "He's already confirmed the story, I'm afraid," he says with a glance at Sirius.

Remus looks staggered to see his father. He points his wand at the Spellophonic, silencing it, then takes the newspaper.

"Oh my god," he says at once, his eyes moving swiftly down the page.

Sirius realizes he can't stay out of this. "She doesn't know details," he says, coming to stand beside Remus. "There's nothing to trace them."

"But how—?" Remus looks up, face ashen. "Did she follow us to Inverness?"

"Looks that way, doesn't it."

"What is this about, Remus?" Lyall asks, tone plaintive in a way that makes Sirius imagine punching him. "Who are these people?"

Remus looks at his father. "Rita Skeeter is following me. Sirius and I met her in Hogsmeade, and now she's publishing conversations we had in private."

"But werewolves? At the house in Yorkshire?"

"Dad, she could be here _right now_. We can't talk about this." Remus pulls his wand from his back pocket. "I'm going to cast wards around the perimeter of the property. You can help or you can whinge at me, it's up to you." Sirius is reminded how much he likes it when Remus is cross with people who aren't him.

Lyall's mouth flattens, but to Sirius's surprise he says, "Of course I'll help."

Remus turns to Sirius. "While we're doing that, will you cast some revealing charms in here?"

Sirius knows he's being given the easy job, but he nods. "Of course."

After Remus and his father march out the front door, Sirius stands in the center of his room and wracks his brain for every revealing charm he's ever learned, in case Rita Skeeter is hiding under the stairs or has left a magical recording gadget in the eaves.

It's no use. The spells all land, but they only uncover a collection of writing implements and small change beneath Remus's sofa cushions and a small Bundimun infestation behind the cooker. However Rita Skeeter heard about Remus's friends, no clues have followed them back to the cottage.

He's dumped out his lukewarm coffee and brewed another cup by the time Remus and Lyall come back in.

Remus comes into the kitchen alone. "Anything?" he asks, opening a cupboard and pulling out teabags.

Sirius shakes his head. "Kitchen could do with a scouring," he says. "Your dad thinks you've joined the Werewolf Mafia."

Remus drops the teabags into mugs and pours hot water over them. "I gathered."

"I... may have told him off."

"I gathered that too." Remus's mouth curves with amusement, and suddenly he steps forward and drops a kiss on Sirius's cheek.

Sirius can't help it—he stares. "What was that for?"

"Services rendered," Remus says. "Now come on, let's get this over with."

Lyall Lupin is seated in the armchair; he accepts the cup of tea from his son, setting it on the side table. His gaze moves from Remus to Sirius, and while Sirius knows he couldn't have seen the kiss, his face heats up as if he's been caught in the act. Maybe it's the fact that Remus is standing too close to him, or that his cheek still tingles where Remus kissed him.

He drops onto the sofa, and Remus sits beside him.

"Dad," Remus says, "I know you're upset, but you've got to trust me."

"But these people—"

"Are absolutely ordinary, like I am. They needed a safe place, and I'm grateful I could give it to them." Remus pauses. "I can't tell you any more than that. We'll have a cup of tea, and then I've got to check on them... if they'll see me, that is." He closes his eyes. "Christ, this is a nightmare," Sirius hears him say, almost inaudibly.

"I don't understand why you wouldn't tell me," Remus's father says quietly.

"No?" Remus's eyes fly open. "Put yourself in their shoes. The fewer people know what they are, the better. They both still have ties with the wizarding world..."

"But I could help... Remus, you know I only want to help..."

"I know," Remus says, with more kindness than Sirius could have mustered. "I'm asking you, again, to trust me."

"I very much want to." Lyall's gaze returns to Sirius. "But—your trust hasn't always been well placed."

Sirius leaps up from the sofa. "Go to hell," he growls, his fingers closing on his wand.

Remus rises next to him. "Dad, that was out of line."

"I simply do not understand," Lyall says. "After what he put you through—"

" _Enough_." Remus's voice trembles, but his expression is stone. "You don't know... you have no idea. What he's been through... and you want to start a scene..."

"You didn't sleep. You barely _ate_ for a year. If I hadn't been there to take care of you..."

"Don't you _dare_ lay any of that at his feet!"

"I would never hurt your son," Sirius says, but his voice is choked, the words don't come out right.

"You already have," Lyall replies. "Through your recklessness, you have wounded him in ways I doubt you will ever understand."

Remus makes a noise that comes from low in his throat—pure fury. He sets down his tea, goes to the hall and extends his wand. Flames blaze in the hearth of the inglenook.

"Out," he says.

Lyall's blue eyes wince—but he nods and rises.

"When you're ready to talk, I'm here," he says, as if Remus is the one being unreasonable. Then he walks over to the inglenook, scoops his fingers into the Floo powder on the mantel, and drops it into the fire. Green flames shoot up.

"Milkcroft House," he says, and disappears into the fire.

Remus reenters the sitting room. Before Sirius can speak, Remus's arms have closed around him.

"Jesus Christ," he says breathlessly. "I'm so sorry..."

"Fine," Sirius mumbles. "Don't worry about it."

"It's not fine." And it comes to Sirius that it isn't he who needs comfort right now—it's Remus.

"Hey," he says, and belatedly lifts his arms, pulling Remus against his chest. "It's okay. You're okay."

"I'm embarrassed," Remus murmurs.

"What?" Sirius's hands have found Remus's back of their own initiative; he rubs slow circles between Remus's shoulder blades. "Remember _my_ parents? The ones who used to send me Howlers for my birthday?" He exhales. "Look, no offense, Moony, but I don't give a crup's arse what your dad thinks of me. I don't like him enough for that."

Remus makes a sound that might be a laugh. "I'll let him know."

Reluctantly, Sirius releases him. "You should go to Yorkshire..."

"Yes," Remus says, but he doesn't move away. He looks pale and exhausted, and suddenly it's as if Sirius can feel the moon's pull himself, like a hook in his belly.

Before he has time to conceive regret, he leans forward. "Paying you back," he murmurs, and presses his mouth to Remus's.

It's the quickest of kisses—brush of soft lips, Remus's head tilting slightly to meet him, and then it's over.

Lightning, too, strikes quickly. Sirius feels the kiss on every inch of his skin.

Remus lifts a hand and brushes Sirius's cheek with his fingertips, but there's something oddly tight in his expression. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he says. "You'll be all right here?"

"I'll be fine."

Remus nods, and then he's out the door.

Sirius drops heavily onto the sofa. His shoulders are shaking, but whether it's because of Lyall's words— _Y_ _ou have wounded him in ways I doubt you will ever understand_ —or the tension in Remus's eyes after Sirius kissed him, he's not certain.

He's definitely not fine, but at least now he can lose it in private.

With his last reserves of strength, he transforms. Padfoot beds down on the sofa, paws over muzzle, and lets out a plaintive whine. The feeling of being bereft doesn't lift, but shifts.

Padfoot wants his pack.


	14. Chapter 14

Remus returns home around six o'clock. The sun is still high in the west, the waxing moon hovering like a ghost in the east. It's less than a week until the full moon, and his joints are starting to twinge.

The sight of the cottage is a relief. There's not much to differentiate the limewashed walls of his home in Pembrokeshire from the tumbledown stones of the cottage in Yorkshire, but whenever he's in Yorkshire for more than a few hours, he's seized by a closed-in feeling. A sense of entombment.

Now, though, there's wind in the trees behind the house and the scent of the ocean. Closer at hand, music is thrumming inside the cottage. It's not the grinding rock of earlier, but a woman singing sweetly, the melodies of a seventies-era orchestra behind her...

Remus pushes the front door open. "Sirius?" he calls, voice edged with alarm. Either Sirius is in a very strange mood, or an unknown person has broken into the house and is playing his Judy Collins records.

Sirius appears in the doorway to the kitchen, his smile looking very much like relief. He's changed into the dark blue jumper, the one he seems to have decided is for special occasions, and fewer strands are escaping his ponytail than usual.

"There you are," he says. "Hungry? I've got dinner ready."

"Sorry, you've—?"

"All right, truth is I tried to make spaghetti bolognese, but..." Sirius gives a comical wince. "So that's in the bin, and we're having fish and chips. Oh, and—" Sirius holds up a bottle of Harp lager. "I picked up a case when I Apparated into town earlier."

"That's... very sweet of you, Sirius." Remus's own voice, to his alarm, has something of the quality of Judy Collins' plaintive violins. "Er, the music...?"

Sirius grins. "D'you know, I think she's grown on me. That album, _Who Knows Where the Time Goes?_ I listened it twice."

This implies that Sirius has been listening to _all_ of his Judy Collins albums, possibly in chronological order. Remus's imagination strains to picture Sirius drinking lager and listening to "Since You Asked." He knows perfectly well that Sirius has been playing the music because he thought Remus would like it.

"Sirius, what's happened?" he asks.

Sirius looks politely blank.

"Has there been another article—or has Dad—?"

"What are you on about?"

There isn't enough oxygen in the room. "There's obviously more bad news," Remus manages, "and you're trying to soften the blow."

Sirius comes forward, smiling. He rests a hand on Remus's shoulder, leaning in so that their foreheads almost touch.

"Merlin, you need a drink more than I did," he says. "Nothing happened, Moony. I just thought you needed looking after for a change."

Remus exhales. He points his wand to silence Judy's dulcet tones. He does, in fact, need a drink. Possibly several.

"Is everything all right in Yorkshire?" Sirius asks. He hasn't moved away.

"I don't think we should discuss it here. Are you comfortable Apparating again?"

Sirius pulls back, letting his hand slide away. "Yeah, where have you got in mind?"

"Do you remember where we went, last weekend of summer holidays before seventh year?"

Sirius's cheeks turn faintly pink. "Course I remember," he says, and something in his tone makes Remus's own face prickle with heat. "Where should we...?"

"We could make a picnic of it. Go up to the..."

Sirius nods. "Yeah, all right."

They share a smile. It's been a long time since they've communicated in half-finished sentences like schoolboys. Remus is in dangerous territory, but Sirius is right. He does need looking after for a change.

A few minutes later, Remus Apparates in a country lane. He looks around, but no one else is in sight, and the hedge conceals him from wider view.

It's warmer in Somerset than in Wales or Yorkshire. Remus shrugs off his overcoat and slings it over his arm, then lifts his wand and taps the box of lager he's carrying. After a bit of Transfiguration, HARP LAGER reads LARGE TARPS. The last thing they need is to be hauled off by Muggle police for public drinking.

He walks up the lane, and Glastonbury Tor comes into view. Sirius stands at the base of the green hill, carrying the bag of fish and chips and a blanket. When he sees Remus, his mouth tugs into a smile. Together, they begin up the tor.

It's not a short walk, but Sirius has cast a warming spell on the food, causing the scent of fish and chips to waft around them as they make their ascent. Remus is hungry enough to eat a hippogriff, a side effect of the full moon's proximity. He distracts himself with memories of the last time they made this journey.

It was Sirius's first summer in the London flat. Remus had come to stay with him for the last few weeks of the holidays, though only after endless arguments with his parents (and, finally, an earnest promise to his mother that he would not drink, smoke, or go to nightclubs). Once he arrived, however, his and Sirius's attempts to be alone were continually foiled by James and Peter, who had recently got their Apparition licenses and were prone to popping in at all hours.

After yet another frustrated evening—James had showed up unannounced with a bottle of firewhisky to listen to the Quidditch World Cup; with a completely straight face, Sirius had told him that he and Remus had been in the shower together to counteract a particularly dangerous and foul-smelling potions experiment—they agreed to get a hotel for the weekend.

They settled on Glastonbury as a likely place for an anonymous getaway, as it was famously one of the least magical places in Britain. Wizards tend to steer clear of places with mystic associations; a wizard who visits Glastonbury and lacks the ability to blend in with Muggles will inevitably be beset by guitar-strumming pagans, or confronted by reactionary locals of the sort who, in the seventies, displayed "No Hippies" signs in their shop windows.

Remus remembers remarkably little about Glastonbury itself, having spent most of the visit tangled with Sirius in a hotel bed, but he does remember the tor. The view is as lovely as in his memory, rolling fields and hedges stretching toward blue-gray vistas. Below he can see a crescent of houses and shops, and in the east, glittering beneath the moon...

"Sirius," he says, pointing with a startled laugh. "The festival must be this weekend."

Sirius's gaze finds the sprawl of lights and tents. "What's that?"

I suppose it was still getting off the ground last time we were here. It's the Glastonbury Festival. I've always wanted to go. I think Björk is performing this year—you'd like her, I reckon."

Sirius flashes a mischievous smile. "We could sneak in..."

"We could not! That's misuse of magic. The ticket sales go to charity." Remus privately does not think that Sirius would do well in a crowd of thousands, but he doesn't feel the need to point it out.

They've come to the summit of the tor, passing through the long shadow of St. Michael's Tower. Locals sit on the grass, listening to the faint reverberation of music in the distance, while a group of laughing young people sprawl beside the path, none too stealthily sharing a joint. Remus finds an unused patch of grass and casts a quick Muggle-repelling charm, while Sirius spreads out the blanket.

For a while they're silent, parceling out food and opening lagers. Then Sirius speaks. "Your friends are all right, then?"

It takes Remus a moment to decide how to answer. "They're safe. That's what matters."

"Not good, then."

Remus casts his gaze down and lets out a ragged breath.

"Hey, if you don't want to..."

"No, I brought you here so we could talk about it." He downs a long draft of lager. "They didn't know about any of it. My resignation, the newspaper stories. I expected Angie to go spare, but she took it relatively well. Chandra was the one who blew up at me. I suppose he's the one with the most to lose." He hesitates. "I should make it clear, those aren't their legal first names. We've always used nicknames. They didn't know my full name until I showed them the _Prophet_ article today."

"I wouldn't mention that bit to your dad," Sirius says.

"It's because none of us is registered. If you do end up on the Registry, the Werewolf Capture Unit interrogates you about contacts in the werewolf community. Any werewolf who's spread the condition is subject to prosecution. And as Chandra is the one who bit Angie—" Remus sees Sirius's expression change. "Ah, now you're thinking that maybe they are the Werewolf Mafia."

"Of course I bloody don't," Sirius says firmly. "Wasn't it an accident?"

"Yes, but Angie's parents didn't see it that way. She was still living at home when it happened. Her mum saw the scars, realized why she'd been disappearing every full moon. She ran away, and Chandra took her in. He was the only one who understood what she was going through."

"Are they a couple, then?"

Remus shakes his head. "Definitely not. Chandra's in his sixties, and Angie's in her twenties. No, they're... family. I know it sounds odd, but neither of them has got anyone else."

"And they adopted you," Sirius says, sounding pleased.

"We found each other quite by accident." It's such a relief to finally tell all of this to another person. "I met Angie when she got caught trying to nick Damocles Belby's book from Flourish and Blotts. I bought it for her, took her out to lunch at a Muggle cafe." He smiles. "We talked for so long, I had to buy her dinner as well. I'd never done that, just sat and talked with another werewolf before."

"It sounds brilliant," Sirius says.

But Remus feels himself sober. "I don't know what will happen. They have nowhere else to go. Chandra works, but what he does has never added up to much income, and Angie hasn't had a job since she was bitten." He sighs. "The house is safe, at least, it's Unplottable and warded with about a dozen spells. If I stay away until all of this quiets down..."

"It'll be all right," Sirius says with false cheer. "And that bloke, Chandra, he'll come round."

They finish the fish and chips in silence. Remus vanishes the greasy wrappers, and they each open another lager. Remus is aware he hasn't asked Sirius how he's doing, and now he's not sure he can find the words. He's well aware that Sirius's cheerful solicitousness is an act; there's something brittle underneath. Remus could blame the newspaper article, his father's cruelty, but he knows he's at fault as well. Before he left, Sirius kissed him, an act of trust. And Remus walked away.

Remus remembers climbing the tor with Sirius at dawn, the last day before they returned to Hogwarts. Dawn burned orange against the deep blue sky, turning the stones of St. Michael's Tower the color of rust. They stepped beneath the tower, and Sirius took his shoulders and kissed him like they were lovers in a film. Six months later, they'd split up.

Sirius's long legs are pulled up against his chest, chin perched on his knees. His fingers are moving over his lager bottle, tapping out a restless rhythm. Remus remembers Sirius had piano lessons as a child, but he suspects that even without lessons, those long, slim fingers would still make music. He imagines reaching out both hands and twining them in his own.

"Moony?"

Sirius's pale eyes are on him, quicksilver, the color of the moon. He sets down the bottle, and his hands clasp one another, pale fingers and paler knuckles.

"So," he says, the word an exhaled breath, "there's something I need to say. I need you to know—this is fine—this is enough. I don't need anything else. If you just want to be friends..." He shakes his head. "I don't know why I said it like that, ‘just friends.' You're one of the best friends I've ever had, and this is brilliant. Being here with you. It's all I need."

He looks at Remus expectantly.

Remus, for his part, feels as if he's Apparated to Mars. The air is impossibly thin, and it's nothing he can breathe.

Sirius is handing him everything he wanted on a platter. He doesn't have to let Sirius down gently, because Sirius has already let himself down gently. That's what this evening has been about—not his dad, not the article in the _Prophet_. Sirius has been preparing to tell him, graciously, that he's got the hint.

Remus should be relieved, but instead every atom of his being is vibrating with the knowledge that _this is wrong._ It isn't what either of them want.

"I am such a disaster," he says.

Sirius lifts his chin. "You're not...!"

"I am. I'm secretive, I don't stick up for myself, I can't stay in relationships. I frankly... don't like myself very much. I always feel I'm the least appealing person in the room."

"You sound like a bloody self-help book," Sirius says. "And none of that is true."

"It is. I'm an unemployed werewolf with emotional baggage, and I've failed you in more ways than I can count. So if I've been keeping my distance, it's only because..."

Sirius's hands have dropped to his sides. "Lupin, tell me you have not been _protecting me from myself_."

Remus finds a smile. "Or from me. Whichever you like."

Sirius ducks his head. "I thought you'd moved on..."

"Not one of my strong suits, moving on." Remus feels himself sober. "I can't... I don't think I can commit to anything."

"Why would I need that?" Sirius slides up beside him, and one of his long hands curls around Remus's. "I don't need that. I'm not asking you to sign a magical contract."

Remus slides his fingers between Sirius's. "What _do_ you want?"

Sirius's gaze shifts away, and he shrugs. "I dunno." His eyes flick up. "You first."

Remus doesn't know how to respond. There are a number of things he'd _like_ from Sirius, but he's not willing to ask for them, not when this is so new, and they are both so uncertain of themselves.

"I'd like you to spend the moon with me," he says finally. "Even if you can't be with me as Padfoot. I want you to be there when it's over."

Sirius gives an easy grin. "Yeah, well, I was planning on that anyway. I'm not going to leave you alone." He exhales. "All right. I can tell you."

Remus has to stifle a matching grin. He feels as if he's on broomstick; the moment is that weightless. "What is it?"

Sirius swallows, and his fingers tighten around Remus's. "Just this," he says, almost inaudibly. "Being touched. It feels... I don't know how to explain it. Like a Patronus..." His eyebrows lift. "I know how that sounds."

The tug at Remus's heart is almost painful. "It sounds exactly like what one might expect from someone who hasn't been touched very much for thirteen years."

He lifts a hand to cup Sirius's cheek, and Sirius rubs against his palm like a cat. Then he tenses, and pulls away. "Oi, we're in public..."

Remus hooks an arm around him and pulls him in close. "Muggle-repelling charm, they won't pay attention. And if two wizards can't canoodle on Glastonbury Tor the week after the summer solstice, I don't know what the world's coming to."

Sirius laughs and leans his cheek against Remus's temple. Remus has been such a fool not to do this every day since Sirius came back to him. Hold his hand, wrap arms around his thin waist. It seemed like such a risk, but in this moment it seems obvious that the risk was staying away.

Heart pounding, he tilts his head up and presses a deliberate kiss to Sirius's jaw, another to the side of his neck. Sirius makes an appreciative sound. He leans forward, and his lips brush Remus's.

Remus feels the kiss in his spine. When Sirius pulls away, he follows, and they kiss again, longer this time. Neither of their mouths taste appealing—lager, fried food, stale breath—but when Sirius's tongue finds his, it's like a spark of magic. Like he is one of Sirius's hawthorn flowers, and nimble fingers are opening him petal by petal.

Sirius pulls away with a sharp exhale. Remus lifts a hand and finds his cheek. "Was that too much?"

"Feeling a bit scrambled," Sirius says happily. "Like eggs."

"Poor dear," Remus says, unable to hide his smugness.

In the distance, lights flash and 300,000 people cheer. Lush orchestration floats toward them, and Remus swears that he catches Björk beginning to sing "Venus as a Boy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oddly enough, Sirius's declaration that he feels "scrambled, like eggs," was written before I'd ever seen the [music video](https://vimeo.com/124011896) for "Venus as a Boy."


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers! Thank you for your patience during an unplanned hiatus. I'm hoping to return to a regular posting schedule in 2021; wish me luck!

Sirius wakes to an aching head and a parched mouth. He sits up on the camp bed, massaging his temples, and realizes he's got his first hangover in thirteen years.

Three beers. He had _three_ _beers_. He imagines what James would say, and decides the response would not be words, but relentless giggling.

With a grunt, he slides to the end of the camp bed and riffles through potions ingredients on Remus's shelves, searching for something he can brew into a hangover cure. But the contents of the jars are mostly withered and mildewed. Sirius makes a mental note to replace them the next time he's in Hogsmeade.

Downstairs, Remus is standing in the kitchen, frying eggs and bacon and humming. He's wearing faded jeans and a t-shirt for a band called the Psychedelic Furs.

"Morning," he says sunnily. "I thought I was going to end up bringing you breakfast in bed."

Sirius drops onto a chair. "I've got a hangover," he says. The words come out as a whine.

"After three beers?" Sirius scowls, and Remus straightens his face. "I'm sorry you don't feel well. Let's see..." He opens cabinets, fills a glass of water, and sets the water and a small bottle in front of Sirius.

Sirius stares at the bottle. It reads _Paracetamol_ in large, friendly blue letters.

"I hate you."

"It works surprisingly well. I started taking it a few years ago after full moons."

"You're a disgrace to wizards everywhere." But Sirius takes the Muggle pill, remembering at the last moment to swallow rather than chew.

Remus drops a quick kiss on his forehead, and he almost chokes on the medicine.

"By the way," Remus says, "this came in the Muggle post." He sets a large envelope in front of Sirius.

Sirius turns it over to see a return address of Inverness. Before he can think better of it, he's ripped it open like a Christmas parcel.

"Excellent," he says, flipping through documents until he finds a loopy signature for _Ann Dunbar Gordon_. "Have you got something to write with? Suppose I should use one of their pens."

"A solicitor should probably read it over first," Remus says cautiously, but he hands Sirius a biro. Sirius adds his curving scrawl of a signature beneath Ann Dunbar Gordon's. One of these days, he hopes to meet this mysterious Muggle who inherited a wizarding tower.

He sets down the pen and rubs his eyes. "After I post this, I think I'll go up to the tower, start getting it ready for Harry. Want to come?"

"Of course. Someone's got to keep you out of trouble." Remus sets a mug of instant coffee in front of him. "By the way, did I snore last night or something?"

With a lurch, Sirius remembers climbing into bed with Remus the night before. Remus's arms slipping around him, the scent of him on the bedsheets. Sirius felt like he was floating, like his body wasn't quite his own. Then Remus fell asleep, and Sirius climbed out of bed, moved quietly into the adjacent room, and cast the charms he always casts now before he goes to sleep.

"I told you I might not last the night," he says, trying to sound casual. "Your bed is too soft. And I can be a bit restless."

He drinks his coffee, and Remus lets it go.

He's more or less recovered from his hangover by the time they Floo over to the Three Broomsticks. It's another clear day; the feel of sunlight on Sirius's face outside the pub is like an unlikely promise, that the day will begin well and end well, and all he's got to do is coast through it.

"Ready?" Remus asks.

Remus isn't good at concealing his worry, but Sirius flashes his best smile and tries not to be offended. "See you there," he says, and they both Disapparate.

It's not difficult to Apparate to the tower. Sirius remembers everything about it—the shape of the valley, the movement of the stream, the position of the stars the night they drove up there. The world bends around him, and—

He lands in the tangle of a rosebush.

"Aggh!" He pushes forward, but thorns stab his palms, and the tangle of brambles prevents his escape. "Shit, shit..."

"Oh, Pads." Remus is laughing as he walks up. He's carrying a wickerwork basket containing their lunch (earlier, Sirius couldn't help but take the piss out of him for owning an actual picnic basket, like a shepherdess might use to pick berries).

Remus flicks his wand, and the branches of the rosebush lift up long enough for Sirius to stagger away.

"Feel okay?" he asks, as Sirius brushes debris from his front. "No rose bits lodged internally?"

Sirius removes a splinter from his fingernail. "Fine," he says. "Ow."

Remus takes his wrist and presses a kiss to the injured finger. "Come on," he says, releasing him, and leaves Sirius to follow in his wake, wondering if this is how it's going to be from now on. Is Remus just going to kiss him, without warning, at all hours of the day? It seems scarcely credible. Certainly he's done nothing to deserve it.

Once they're inside the house, Sirius feels reassured that he hasn't made a terrible mistake. By day, the interior of the tower is even lovelier than by wandlight. The sitting room is high-ceilinged and surprisingly bright, mullioned windows casting a honey-colored light over everything.

Sirius likes it. He likes the black and gold furniture, which looks like something his great-aunt Cassiopeia would have in her London townhouse, with flasks of firewhisky and French novels hidden in secret compartments. He likes the plush carpet with green and gold phoenixes and the firescreens painted with sleeping foxes. He even likes the Muggle paintings, though he could do with a dozen fewer of them. Sirius never thought he'd want to live in a posh house again, but every piece is so beautiful and carefully selected, and the effect of the whole is perfect harmony. Just a few touches to make it feel more homely...

"Floor cushions," he decides. "And big pillows for that settee."

"First I thought we'd get the water running," Remus says grimly, and begins down the spiral staircase.

By lunchtime, Sirius is feeling decidedly useless. Remus appears to possess information about house maintenance that was never covered in the Hogwarts curriculum. In a closet they discover a big cast-iron water heater that dates to a previous century, and though Remus says it's rigged to run on magic, there's mineral build-up in the copper tubing that needs to be removed. Remus casts a spell to check all of the pipes for damage, warning that neither of them should drink the water until he can research a good whole-house water purification charm.

Meanwhile, Sirius makes an attempt to clean the kitchen. His _Scourgify_ spell successfully obliterates the Bundimun colony he discovers in the bathroom, but the thick layers of dust on every surface would benefit from a Vanishing spell, and he has no desire to fill the room with hawthorn flowers. Instead he starts sorting through the Welsh dresser, where he discovers a number of items that are clearly magical: a stack of curious bowls whose twin handles are inscribed with runes against poisoning, and a wooden pitcher and ladle carved with winged horses that match the doorknocker.

The oddest discovery is in the pantry. Among mouse droppings and the desiccated remains of various dry goods is a large wooden box inlaid with mother of pearl. Sirius opens it, sees what's inside, and makes a noise of surprise. He carries the box over to Remus, who is pressing his wand to the kitchen tap and chanting something beneath his breath.

When Remus finishes, Sirius lifts the lid. "At least we can keep the vampires away."

"Huh." Remus picks up one of the crucifixes and turns it over to study it. "There are certainly plenty of Catholics in this part of Scotland. A bit more common for our people to be Wizarding Church of Britain, though."

"Dunno why," Sirius says. "Wizarding Church of Bugger All, that's what Lily used to call it. Just an excuse for Christmas crackers and Easter hols."

Remus sets the crucifix gingerly back into the box. "Well, it seems that someone had a change of heart."

Sirius closes the box. "You don't reckon they chucked it all and became Pagans? You know, strip naked at the solstice and tie their hankies to wand trees, that sort?" A Pagan revival at the turn of the century had gotten more than one Black blasted off the family tree.

"Suppose it's a possibility," Remus says. "But seeing as it's Scotland, it seems more likely they became Presbyterians."

They eat a late lunch on the front steps. "Tomorrow we'll sweep out the chimneys," Remus says, his eyes watering.

"I suppose I'm a bit rubbish at all this," Sirius offers.

"You'll learn," Remus says with a smile. "You've never owned a house before."

"Still. I didn't mean to haul you up here just to—"

"I'm happy to do it," Remus says, and erupts into a violent sneeze.

After lunch, they make another attempt to break into the upper story. Remus has brought a few of his old textbooks, and they page through them, searching for an enchantment that would make a door impenetrable to standard unlocking spells.

"Maybe there isn't a lock," Sirius says wearily. "Maybe it isn't really a door, but a wall Transfigured to look like one..."

"We've tried every revealing spell we can think of," Remus says, staring at the door handle. "Could there be a special object that acts as a key? Or a secret passphrase—"

Sirius shuts the _Standard Book of Spells, Grade 7_. "Come on. Let's give it up for today and go have a drink at the Broomsticks."

He expects Remus to protest—if they linger in Hogsmeade, nothing seems more likely than a _Daily Prophet_ reporter swooping down on them—but Remus nods.

"You're limited to one pint, though," he adds with a smile.

And when Sirius makes a noise of protest, he kisses the base of Sirius's neck, causing Sirius to make a quite different noise.

The Three Broomsticks is bustling, a mix of summer holidaymakers and locals enjoying an early Sunday dinner. Sirius hasn't bothered to conjure sunglasses, and the next moment it's clear that he isn't going to escape unnoticed. Rubeus Hagrid has risen from a corner table and stretched out his hands, an immense grin breaking beneath his tangled black beard.

Sirius observes that Hogwarts' gamekeeper seemingly hasn't aged from the last time they parted, thirteen years ago. He braces himself as Hagrid crosses the distance and pulls both him and Remus into a bone-crunching hug.

"You two!" he exclaims, releasing them. Sirius experimentally shrugs his shoulders, verifying that all of his joints are in working order. "You left before I could find you, end of last term. Blimey, when Dumbledore told me the news, you could've blown me over with a Jobberknoll feather." His eyes have become glassy. "All these years later—innocent—mind you, I know what that's like—"

"Hagrid, it's wonderful to see you," Remus says quickly, "but Sirius and I are trying to keep a low profile. We've got to be careful of what we discuss in public..."

"I get you," Hagrid says. "Well, you don't want to talk about all that anyway. Come have a drink, though, won't you?" He herds them forward. "Ah, I near forgot, let me introduce you to Mel. You two'll like her. Mel, this is Remus Lupin and Sirius Black! Heroes of the war, both of them!"

A middle-aged woman stands, smiling. She's tall, with a dark ponytail and an angular, freckled face. After a moment, Sirius spots a second pair of eyes—a custard-colored Puffskein is poking out of the front pocket of her linen robes.

"What a pleasure." Sirius can't place her accent; something foreign blurs her English vowels. "I don't trust anything I read in the _Prophet_ , of course. I'm Mel Scamander."

Sirius catches a shift in Remus's posture beside him. Before he can take a good look at Remus's face, Remus speaks. "Hagrid, I'm sorry, but we need to head home. Why don't you Floo down for tea sometime?"

Hagrid's crow-dark eyes dart between Remus, whose knuckles are white at his sides, to Mel Scamander, whose own sharp gaze is fixed on Remus's face.

"I'll go," she says, with an air of decisiveness. "Hagrid, Rolf and I will be in Dorset until the end of August. Send me an owl sometime. Dad would love to see you, and I know he'll have a lead on where to place the rest of your herd."

"Sure I'll come, but—" Hagrid's frown deepens. "You two ought to have a drink together, I think you'd have lots to—"

"I'm already familiar with Ms. Scamander's work," Remus says. "As well as... that of her husband."

"Ex-husband, actually," Mel says quietly.

"Who's her ex-husband?" Sirius asks Remus, intending a whisper but missing the mark.

Remus's face is expressionless. "Leo Rask used to operate a refuge for Dark creatures in Sweden. He collaborated with Damocles Belby on the development of the Wolfsbane Potion. Belby developed the potion, but it was Rask who carried out field tests."

Mel Scamander picks up a cardboard drinks coaster and taps it with her wand. The butterbeer advert is replaced by new writing, and she offers it to Remus. "Here's the place where I'm staying. I'd love you to pay us a visit. Just consider it, that's all I'm asking. I think we'd have a lot to talk about."

Remus says nothing, but he pockets the coaster.

Mel Scamander flashes Hagrid a quick smile. "Well, I'm off. Take care, Hagrid. Don't let the bastards grind you down." And then she's out the door.

Remus exhales. "Hagrid, I apologize. I didn't mean to—"

"Nah, I'm the one who ought to be sorry," Hagrid says, ushering them over to the table where he and Mel had been sitting. "Tell the truth, I never liked Leo Rask. Mel, though, you can't judge her by him." He lowers himself onto an oversized bench. "We've known each other since we were kids. She started at Hogwarts after I was expelled, used to sneak out in the evenings for a cuppa with me and Ogg. First time I saw a dragon was with Mel and her mum and dad. They took me along on holiday, just so I could see a Hebridean Black."

Remus sits, and Sirius drops onto the chair beside him, watching him closely.

"I understand she's a personal friend," Remus says, "but—Rask and Belby conducted those trials for five years. Mel Scamander was working with them, side by side. She must have known—"

"Known what?" Sirius says quickly. "What did they do?"

"What do you think?" Remus says in a colorless voice. "Like I told you, if Wolfsbane Potion isn't brewed correctly, it can kill. But not all the werewolves who participated in the trials understood the risks, and when they tried to leave..." Remus looks away. "Those rogue werewolves my dad goes on about, the ones who follow Greyback? Most of them are survivors of Rask's trials. What they've been through, they've got a reason to hate wizards."

"Shit," Sirius says quietly.

"Mel never had anything to do with the werewolves," Hagrid says. "Mad for hags, she is. Rask kept it all from her. As soon as it came out, she took her son and left."

"I'd like to believe all of that is true." Remus stands. "We'll go. I didn't mean to—"

Hagrid stands as well. "Nah, don't go. This was my fault. And I could use the company, to be honest. Been having trouble with my hippogriff herd. They've all been on edge since..." He exhales heavily; Sirius feels his own hair flutter. "If it's the _Prophet_ you're worried about, come back to the school. We can have a drink, and you can tell me how things've been going for the two of you."

Remus is shaking his head. "I can't be on school property." He looks at Sirius. "Sirius, you should go—"

But Hagrid looks between them, his eyes wise. "Nah, never mind. I'll go up to the castle, see if Dumbledore wants a glass of firewhisky."

"Look, I'm buying a place in the Highlands," Sirius says. "Harry will be coming to stay with me for the rest of the summer. You should come up for a visit."

Hagrid's face breaks into a grin. "Yeah, I'd like that. Great friends, me and Harry. I was the one who brought him his Hogwarts letter, did you know that? Told him who he was. Those Muggles hadn't told him anything."

They walk to the fireplace across from the bar, and Hagrid pulls them into one last suffocating hug. "Take care, you two," he says.

After a quiet supper at home, Remus sprawls out on the sofa reading up on chimney sweeping spells. Sirius lies on the hearthrug, paging through one of Remus's old Transfiguration textbooks for ideas on what's going wrong with his vanishing spells.

"I hope Hagrid isn't offended," Remus says finally. "We probably should have stayed."

"He could see you needed to get out of there." Sirius pauses. "I wish I'd known about the potion."

The silence drags on long enough that Sirius regrets saying anything. But then Remus speaks. "I hate where Wolfsbane Potion comes from. But using it isn't just for my comfort, it's for others' safety. It's because of all that suffering and death that I can't see my way to refusing it." He closes the book, shifts to face Sirius. "I met Damocles Belby when I was a child. He was the only specialist my father took me to who didn't treat me like I was contaminated. His own family has cut ties with him because he's spent his career treating werewolves. And yet..." His voice becomes a whisper. "Sirius, it could have been me. Dad wanted me to enroll in that study. It was only because I'd heard rumors about Rask that I didn't go through with it..."

Sirius feels a vortex open up in him. A world in which he survived and Remus didn't is too appalling to contemplate. "I don't get it," he says. "Treating people like fucking lab rats..."

Remus surprises him by laughing. "Do you even know what lab rats are?"

"They're... rats that Muggle nutters torture." Sirius strains to remember. "For science?"

"Something like that." Remus climbs off the sofa and onto the hearthrug beside Sirius. He inches close, draping an arm around Sirius's waist. When Sirius turns to him, he smiles with his eyes and presses a kiss to the corner of Sirius's mouth.

Sirius lies stock-still. He's pretty sure the old Sirius would kiss Remus back, or pin him against the rug and start unbuttoning things. Instead his eyes flutter close, and he lets Remus press kisses to both his eyelids, his forehead, his cheeks.

"Is this all right?" Remus murmurs against his jaw. "Or should I let you read?"

"Er... whatever," Sirius says, opening his eyes and trying to sound easy.

Remus sits up beside him. "What does that mean?"

It's like the time in Ancient Runes when Sirius accidentally inscribed his Cup of Plenty with the rune for drunkenness. He's obviously made a serious error, and the result is making his head swim.

"Just that it's up to you," he says, finding Remus's hand and entwining their fingers. "Whatever you fancy."

"No. You're the one in control of what happens. I'm not expecting you to... lie back and think of England."

Sirius pulls his hand away and sits up. "I _wasn't_. But I don't know what I want, so if you expect me to take charge then we'd better not bother."

He's certain that Remus is going to stalk out of the room. Or nod and agree that this has all been a terrible mistake; of course they can't be a couple. After all, Sirius has seen himself in the mirror.

But Remus doesn't leave the room. Instead he pulls Sirius into a tight embrace.

"Sorry," he says quietly. "But you'll tell me if I'm overstepping?"

"You really think I've lost my nerve," Sirius says before he can think better of it.

Remus pulls away to meet his gaze. "I think you can hardly blame me for being protective of you," he says, and kisses Sirius again.

His mouth is warm against Sirius's; his cool fingers slide into Sirius's hair. Sirius doesn't know what to do with his own hands, but it doesn't seem to matter. His mouth feels like an alchemical reaction, lead becoming gold.

He pulls away to catch his breath. Remus brushes his cheek with the pad of his thumb; he cranes to kiss along his jawline and throat. Takes Sirius's hands in his and kisses each palm, then kisses him knuckle by knuckle.

Hands are sexy—Sirius has forgotten this. Then again, he's forgotten that his skin is anything other than a straitjacket, an unwelcome reminder of loneliness and confinement.

Remus's thumbs stroke the backs of his hands in slow circles. "Your skin is really dry," he says. "Have you been using my Nivea cream?"

"What?"

"Stay there." Remus rises, and a minute later he returns with a blue tin.

"What are you—?"

"This is what happens when you put your fate in my hands." Remus opens the tin and scoops thick white cream onto Sirius's hands.

Sirius wrinkles his nose. "Smells weird..."

"You're welcome to use it after you shower," Remus says, jaw set in concentration. His fingers work to massage the cream into Sirius's skin, pausing when he comes to dry patches or old scabs. Sirius wishes someone had thought to tell him he has not only the physique of a skeleton but the skin of a mummy.

But Remus doesn't seem disgusted. He pushes up the sleeves of Sirius's jumper and rubs cream into his wrists. "I imagine you could use it on your face as well. It makes me break out, but as you've got perfect skin..."

" _This_ is what you call perfect skin?"

Remus gives him a withering look. "Practically no pores. I hated you for it when we were younger. I was always spotty, and you looked like a film star."

As Remus turns his focus to Sirius's elbows, Sirius realizes why he's feeling so odd and self-conscious. It isn't just because he feels like something that's lurched out of a pyramid. It's the same as when Remus gave him a haircut—he is not used to this kind of care and attention. Certainly he hasn't given it to himself.

"Film star, yeah," he says. "Maybe they'll cast me as Nosferatu."

"Stop it."

"What's that one... Night of the Living Dead..."

"I believe you are fishing for a compliment."

"Yeah, but I'll take a kiss," Sirius says, leaning forward and stopping Remus's smile with his mouth.


End file.
